THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
FREDERIC  THOMAS  BLANCHARD 


THE  TWO  VANREVELS 


"She,  too,   knew  that   this    iviis  the   second   time    their 
ei/es  had   met " 


THE  TWO  VANREVELS 


BY 


BOOTH    TARKINGTON 

Author  of 

The  Gentleman  from  Indiana  and 
Monsieur  Beaucaire 


Illustrations  by  Henry  Hutf 


GAIIDEN  CITY        NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

191? 


Copyright.  1902.  by 
DOUBLEDAY.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 


TS 


To 

My  Mother 


1052909 


CONTENTS 

CHATTER  PAHE 

I.   A  CAT  CAN  Do  MOEE  THAN  LOOK  AT 

A  KING 1 

I.     SURVIVING    EVILS    OF    THE    REIGN    OF 

TERROR 20 

HI,  THE  ROGUE'S  GALLERY  OF  A  FATHER 
SHOULD  BE  EXHIBITED  TO  A  DAUGH- 
TER WITH  PARTICULAR  CARE  ...  39 

IV.    "Bur  SPARE  YOUR  COUNTRY'S  FLAG"  .     57 

V.   NERO  NOT  THE  LAST  VIOLINIST  OF  HIS 

KIND 77 

VI.  THE  EVER  UNPRACTICAL  FEMININE  .     .     93 

VII.  THE  COMEDIAN 108 

VIII.  A  TALE  OF  A  POLITICAL  DIFFERENCE  .  127 

IX.  THE  RULE  OF  THE  REGENT    .     .     .     .153 

X.    ECHOES  OF  A  SERENADE 169 

[vii] 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XL  A  VOICE  IN  A  GARDEN 189 

XII.  THE  ROOM  IN  THE  CUPOLA  ....  207 

XIII.  THE  TOCSIN 227 

XIV.  THE  FIRM  OF  GRAY  AND  VANREVEL  .  245 
XV.  WHEN  JUNE  CAME 256 

XVI.  "THOSE  ENDEARING  YOUNG  CHARMS"  274 

XVII.  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 286 

XVIII.  THE  UNIFORM 304 

XIX.  THE  FLAG  GOES  MARCHING  BY    .     .  324 

XX.  «GOOD-BY".  .  344 


[viii] 


THE  TWO  VANREVELS 


CHAPTER  I 
A  Cat  Can  Do  More  than  Look  at  a  King 

IT  was  long  ago  in  the  days  when  men  sighed 
when  they  fell  in  love;  when  people  danced 
by  candle  and  lamp,  and  did  dance,  too, 
instead  of  solemnly  gliding  about;  in  that  mellow 
time  so  long  ago,  when  the  young  were  romantic 
and    summer    was    roses    and    wine,    old    Carewe 
brought  his  lovely  daughter  home  from  the  con- 
vent to  wreck  the  hearts  of  the  youth  of  Rouen. 
That  was  not  a  far  journey;  only  an  afternoon's 
drive  through  the  woods  and  by  the  river,  in  an 
April,    long    ago;    Miss    Betty's    harp    carefully 
strapped  behind  the  great  lumbering  carriage,  her 
guitar  on  the  front  seat,  half -buried  under  a  mound 
of  bouquets  and  oddly  shaped  little  bundles,  fare- 
well gifts  of  her  comrades  and  the  good  Sisters. 
In  her  left  hand  she  clutched  a  small  lace  handker- 
chief, with  which  she  now  and  then  touched  her 
[1] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

eyes,  brimmed  with  the  parting  from  Sister  Cecilia, 
Sister  Mary  Bazilede,  the  old  stone  steps  and  all 
the  girls:  but  for  every  time  that  she  lifted  the 
dainty  kerchief  to  brush  away  the  edge  of  a  tear, 
she  took  a  deep  breath  of  the  Western  woodland 
air  and  smiled  at  least  twice ;  for  the  years  of  strict 
inclosure  within  St.  Mary's  walls  and  still  gar- 
dens were  finished  and  done  with,  and  at  last  the 
many-colored  world  flashed  and  danced  in  a  mys- 
tery before  her.  This  mystery  was  brilliant  to  the 
convent-girl  because  it  contained  men;  she  was 
eager  to  behold  it. 

They  rumbled  into  town  after  sunset,  in  the  fair 
twilight,  the  dogs  barking  before  them,  and 
everyone  would  have  been  surprised  to  know  that 
Tom  Vanrevel,  instead  of  Mr.  Crailey  Gray,  was 
the  first  to  see  her.  By  the  merest  accident,  Tom 
was  strolling  near  the  Carewe  place  at  the  time; 
and  when  the  carriage  swung  into  the  gates,  with 
rattle  and  clink  and  clouds  of  dust  at  the  finish, 
it  was  not  too  soon  lost  behind  the  shrubbery 
and  trees  for  Tom  to  catch  something  more 
than  a  glimpse  of  a  gray  skirt  behind  a  mound 


A  Cat  Can  Do  More  than  Look  at  a  King 
of  flowers,  and  of  a  charming  face  with  parted 
lips  and  dark  eyes  beneath  the  scuttle  of  an  enor- 
mous bonnet.  It  happened — perhaps  it  is  more 
accurate  to  say  that  Tom  thought  it  happened — 
that  she  was  just  clearing  away  her  veil  when  he 
turned  to  look.  She  blushed  suddenly,  so  much 
was  not  to  be  mistaken ;  and  the  eyes  that  met  his 
were  remarkable  for  other  reasons  than  the  sheer 
loveliness  of  them,  in  that,  even  in  the  one  flash 
of  them  he  caught,  they  meant  so  many  things 
at  one  time.  They  were  sparkling,  yet  mournful; 
and  they  were  wistful,  although  undeniably  lively 
with  the  gayest  comprehension  of  the  recipient  of 
their  glance,  seeming  to  say,  "  Oh,  it's  you,  young 
man,  is  it ! "  And  they  were  shy  and  mysterious 
with  youth,  full  of  that  wond^  at  the  world  which 
has  the  appearance,  sometimes,  of  wisdom  gathered 
in  the  unknown  out  of  which  we  came.  But,  above 
all,  these  eyes  were  fully  conscious  of  Tom  Van- 
revel. 

Without  realizing  what  he  did,  Mr.  Vanrevel 
stopped  short.  He  had  been  swinging  a  walking- 
stick,  which,  describing  a  brief  arc,  remained 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

poised  half-way  in  its  descent.  There  was  only 
that  one  glance  between  them;  and  the  carriage 
disappeared,  leaving  a  scent  of  spring  flowers  in 
the  air. 

The  young  man  was  left  standing  on  the  wooden 
pavement  in  the  midst  of  a  great  loneliness,  yet 
enveloped  in  the  afterglow,  his  soul  roseate,  his 
being  quavering,  his  expression,  like  his  cane,  in- 
stantaneously arrested.  With  such  promptitude 
and  finish  was  he  disposed  of,  that,  had  Miss 
Carewe  been  aware  of  his  name  and  the  condition 
wrought  in  him  by  the  single  stroke,  she  could  have 
sought  only  the  terse  Richard  of  England  for  a 
like  executive  ability,  "Off  with  his  head!  So 
much  for  Vanrevel !  " 

She  had  lifted  a  slender  hand  to  the  fluttering 
veil,  a  hand  in  a  white  glove  with  a  small  lace 
gauntlet  at  the  wrist.  This  gesture  was  the  final 
divinity  of  the  radiant  vision  which  remained  with 
the  dazed  young  man  as  he  went  down  the  street; 
and  it  may  have  been  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
later  when  the  background  of  the  picture  became 
vivid  to  him:  a  carefully  dressed  gentleman  with 
1*1 


A  Cat  Can  Do  More  than  Look  at  a  Kmg 
heavy  brows  and  a  handsome  high  nose,  who  sat 
stiffly  upright  beside  the  girl,  his  very  bright  eyes 
quite  as  conscious  of  the  stricken  pedestrian  as  were 
hers,  vastly  different,  however,  in  this:  that  they 
glittered,  nay,  almost  bristled,  with  hostility; 
while  every  polished  button  of  his  blue  coat  seemed 
to  reflect  their  malignancy,  and  to  dart  little 
echoing  shafts  of  venom  at  Mr.  Vanrevel. 

Tom  was  dismayed  by  the  acuteness  of  his  per- 
ception that  a  man  who  does  not  speak  to  you  has 
no  right  to  have  a  daughter  like  the  lady  in  the 
carriage;  and,  the  moment  of  this  realization 
occurring  as  he  sat  making  a  poor  pretence  to  eat 
his  evening  meal  at  the  "  Rouen  House,"  he 
dropped  his  fork  rattling  upon  his  plate  and 
leaned  back,  staring  at  nothing,  a  proceeding  of 
which  his  table-mate,  Mr.  William  Cummings,  the 
editor  of  the  Rouen  Journal,  was  too  busy  over  his 
river  bass  to  take  note. 

"  Have  you  heard  what's  new  in  town?  "  asked 
Cummings  presently,  looking  up. 

"  No,"  said  Tom  truthfully,  for  he  had  seen 
what  was  new,  but  not  heard  it. 


The  Two  Vanreveh 

"  Old  Carewe's  brought  his  daughter  home. 
Fanchon  Bareaud  was  with  her  at  St.  Mary's  until 
last  year ;  and  Fanchon  says  she's  not  only  a  great 
beauty  but  a  great  dear." 

"Ah!"  rejoined  the  other  with  masterly  indif- 
ference. "  Dare  say — dare  say." 

"  No  wonder  you're  not  interested,"  said  Cum- 
mings  cheerfully,  returning  to  the  discussion  of 
his  bass.  "  The  old  villain  will  take  precious  good 
care  you  don't  come  near  her." 

Mr.  Vanrevel  already  possessed  a  profound  con- 
viction to  the  same  effect.  Robert  Meilhac  Carewe 
was  known  not  only  as  the  wealthiest  citizen  of 
Rouen,  but  also  as  its  heartiest  and  most  steadfast 
hater:  and,  although  there  were  only  five  or  six 
thousand  inhabitants,  neither  was  a  small  distinc- 
tion. For  Rouen  was  ranked,  in  those  easy  days, 
as  a  wealthy  town;  even  as  it  was  called  an  old 
town;  proud  of  its  age  and  its  riches,  and  bitter 
in  its  politics,  of  course.  The  French  had  built  a 
fort  there,  soon  after  LaSalle's  last  voyage,  and, 
as  Crailey  Gray  said,  had  settled  the  place,  and 
had  then  been  settled  themselves  by  the  pioneer 
[6] 


A  Cat  Can  Do  More  than  Look  at  a  King 
militia.  After  the  Revolution,  Carolinians  and 
Virginians  had  come,  by  way  of  Tennessee  and 
Kentucky ;  while  the  adventurous  countrymen  from 
Connecticut,  travelling  thither  to  sell,  remained  to 
buy — and  then  sell — when  the  country  was  in  its 
teens.  In  course  of  time  the  little  trading-post  of 
the  Northwest  Territory  had  grown  to  be  the  lead- 
ing centre  of  elegance  and  culture  in  the  Ohio  Val- 
ley— at  least  they  said  so  in  Rouen;  only  a  few 
people  in  the  country,  such  as  Mr.  Irving  of  Tarry- 
town,  for  instance,  questioning  whether  a  centre 
could  lead. 

The  pivotal  figure,  though  perhaps  not  the 
heart,  of  this  centre,  was  unquestionably  Mr. 
Carewe,  and  about  him  the  neat  and  tight  aristoc- 
racy of  the  place  revolved;  the  old  French  rem- 
nant, having  liberally  intermarried,  forming  the 
nucleus,  together  with  descendants  of  the  Cavaliers 
(and  those  who  said  they  were)  and  the  industrious 
Yankees,  by  virtue  (if  not  by  the  virtues)  of  all 
whom,  the  town  grew  and  prospered.  Robert 
Carewe  was  Rouen's  magnate,  commercially  and 
socially,  and,  until  an  upstart  young  lawyer  named 
[7] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

Vanrevel  struck  into  his  power  with  a  broad-axe, 
politically.  The  wharves  were  Carewe's ;  the  ware- 
houses that  stood  by  the  river,  and  the  line  of 
packets  which  plied  upon  it,  were  his ;  half  the  town 
was  his,  and  in  Rouen  this  meant  that  he  was  pos- 
sessed of  the  Middle  Justice,  the  High  and  the 
Low.  His  mother  was  a  Frenchwoman,  and,  in 
those  days,  when  to  go  abroad  was  a  ponderous  and 
venturesome  undertaking,  the  fact  that  he  had 
spent  most  of  his  youth  in  the  French  capital 
wrought  a  certain  glamour  about  him;  for  to  the 
American,  Paris  was  Europe,  and  it  lay  shimmer- 
ing on  the  far  horizon  of  every  imagination,  a 
golden  city.  Scarce  a  drawing-room  in  Rouen 
lacked  its  fearsome  engraving  entitled  "  Grand 
Ball  at  the  Tuileries,"  nor  was  Godey's  Magazine 
ever  more  popular  than  when  it  contained  articles 
elaborate  of  similar  scenes  of  festal  light,  where 
brilliant  uniforms  mingled  with  shining  jewels,  fair 
locks,  and  the  white  shoulders  of  magnificently 
dressed  duchesses,  countesses,  and  ladies.  (Credit 
for  this  description  should  be  given  entirely  to  the 
above-mentioned  periodical.  Furthermore,  a  «o- 


A  Cat  Can  Do  More  than  Look  at  a  King 
journ  in  Paris  was  held  to  confer  a  "  certain  name- 
less and  indescribable  polish  "  upon  the  manners 
of  the  visitor ;  also,  there  was  something  called  "  an 
air  of  foreign  travel." 

They  talked  a  great  deal  about  polish  in  those 
days;  and  some  examples  still  extant  do  not  deny 
their  justification;  but  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Carewe, 
there  existed  a  citizen  of  Rouen,  one  already 
quoted,  who  had  the  temerity  to  declare  the  polish 
to  be  in  truth  quite  nameless  and  indescribable  for 
the  reason  that  one  cannot  paint  a  vacuum.  How- 
ever, subscription  to  this  opinion  should  not  be 
over-hasty,  since  Mr.  Crailey  Gray  had  been  noto- 
riously a  rival  of  Carewe's  with  every  pretty  wom- 
an in  town,  both  having  the  same  eye  in  such 
matters,  and  also  because  the  slandered  gentleman 
could  assume  a  manner  when  he  chose  to,  whether  or 
not  he  possessed  it.  At  his  own  table  he  exhaled  a 
hospitable  graciousness  which,  from  a  man  of 
known  evil  temper,  carried  the  winsomeness  of 
surprise.  When  he  wooed,  it  was  with  an  air  of 
stately  devotion,  combined  with  that  knowingness 
which  sometimes  offsets  for  a  widower  the  tendency 
[9] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

a  girl  has  to  giggle  at  him;  and  the  combination 
had  been,  once  or  twice,  too  much  for  even  the 
alluring  Crailey. 

Mr.  Carewe  lived  in  an  old-fashioned  house  on 
the  broad,  quiet,  shady  street  which  bore  his  name. 
There  was  a  wide  lawn  in  front,  shadowy  under 
elm  and  locust  trees,  and  bounded  by  thick  shrub- 
beries. A  long  garden,  fair  with  roses  and  holly- 
hocks, lay  outside  the  library  windows,  an  old-time 
garden,  with  fine  gravel  paths  and  green  arbors ; 
drowsed  over  in  summer-time  by  the  bees,  while 
overhead  the  locust  rasped  his  rusty  cadences  the 
livelong  day;  and  a  faraway  sounding  love-note 
from  the  high  branches  brought  to  mind  the  line, 
like  an  old  refrain: 

"  The  voice  of  the  turtle  was  heard  in  the  land." 

Between  the  garden  and  the  carriage  gates  there 
was  a  fountain  where  a  bronze  boy  with  the  dropsy 
(but  not  minding  it)  lived  in  a  perpetual  bath 
from  a  green  goblet  held  over  his  head.  Nearby, 
a  stone  sun-dial  gleamed  against  a  clump  of  lilac 
bushes;  and  it  was  upon  this  spot  that  the  white 
|  10] 


A  Cat  Can  Do  More  than  Look  at  a  King 
kitten     introduced    Thomas    Vanrevel    to     Miss 
Carewe. 

Upon  the  morning  after  her  arrival,  having  fin- 
ished her  piano-forte  practice,  touched  her  harp 
twice,  and  arpeggioed  the  Spanish  Fandango  on 
her  guitar,  Miss  Betty  read  two  paragraphs  of 
"  Gilbert "  ( for  she  was  profoundly  determined  to 
pursue  her  tasks  with  diligence),  but  the  open 
windows  disclosing  a  world  all  sunshine  and  green 
leaves,  she  threw  the  book  aside  with  a  good  con- 
science, and  danced  out  to  the  garden.  There, 
coming  upon  a  fuzzy,  white  ball  rolling  into  itself 
spirally  on  a  lazy  pathway,  she  pounced  at  it, 
whereupon  the  thing  uncurled  with  lightning 
swiftness,  and  fled,  more  like  a  streak  than  a  kitten, 
down  the  drive,  through  the  open  gates  and  into 
the  street,  Miss  Betty  in  full  cry. 

Across  the  way  there  chanced  to  be  strolling  a 
young  lady  in  blue,  accompanied  by  a  gentleman 
whose  leisurely  gait  gave  no  indication  of  the  ma- 
noeuvring he  had  done  to  hasten  their  walk  into  its 
present  direction.  He  was  apparently  thirty  or 
thirty-one,  tall,  very  straight,  dark,  smooth- 
[11] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

shaven,  his  eyes  keen,  deep-set,  and  thoughtful, 
and  his  high  white  hat,  white  satin  cravat,  and 
careful  collar,  were  evidence  of  an  elaboration 
of  toilet  somewhat  unusual  in  Rouen  for  the 
morning;  also,  he  was  carrying  a  pair  of  white 
gloves  in  his  hand  and  dangled  a  slender  ebony 
cane  from  his  wrist.  The  flying  kitten  headed  tow- 
ard the  couple,  when,  with  a  celerity  only  to  be 
accounted  for  on  the  theory  that  his  eye  had  been 
fixed  on  the  Carewe  gateway  for  some  time  previous 
to  this  sudden  apparition,  the  gentleman  leaped  in 
front  of  the  fugitive. 

The  kitten  attempted  a  dodge  to  pass ;  the  gen- 
tleman was  there  before  it.  The  kitten  feinted; 
the  gentleman  was  altogether  too  much  on  the  spot. 
Immediately — and  just  as  Miss  Carewe,  flushed 
and  glowing,  ran  into  the  street — the  small  animal 
doubled,  evaded  Miss  Betty's  frantic  clutch,  re- 
entered  the  gateway,  and  attempted  a  disappear- 
ance into  the  lilac  bushes,  instead  of  going  round 
them,  only  to  find  itself,  for  a  fatal  two  seconds, 
in  difficulties  with  the  close-set  thicket  of  stems. 

In  regard  to  the  extraordinary  agility  of  which 
[12] 


A  Cat  Can  Do  More  than  Look  at  a  King 
the  pursuing  gentleman  was  capable,  it  is  enough 
to  say  that  he  caught  the  cat.  He  emerged  from 
the  lilacs  holding  it  in  one  hand,  his  gloves  and 
white  hat  in  the  other,  and  presented  himself  before 
Miss  Betty  with  a  breathlessness  not  entirely  at- 
tributable to  his  exertions. 

For  a  moment,  as  she  came  running  toward  him 
and  he  met  her  flashing  look,  bright  with  laughter 
and  recognition  and  haste,  he  stammered.  A  thrill 
nothing  less  than  delirious  sent  the  blood  up  behind 
his  brown  cheeks,  for  he  saw  that  she,  too,  knew 
that  this  was  the  second  time  their  eyes  had  met. 
Naturally,  at  that  time  he  could  not  know  how 
many  other  gentlemen  were  to  feel  that  same  thrill 
(in  their  cases,  also,  delirious,  no  less)  with  the 
same,  accompanying,  mysterious  feeling,  which 
came  just  before  Miss  Betty's  lashes  fell,  that  one 
had  found,  at  last,  a  precious  thing,  lost  long  since 
in  childhood,  or  left,  perhaps,  upon  some  other 
planet  in  a  life  ten  thousand  years  ago. 

He  could  not  speak  at  once,  but  when  he  could, 
**  Permit  me,  madam,"  he  said  solemnly,  offering 
the  captive,  "  to  restore  your  kitten." 
[13] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

An  agitated  kitten  should  not  be  detained  bjj 
clasping  its  waist,  and  already  the  conqueror  was 
paying  for  his  victory.  There  ensued  a  final,  out- 
rageous squirm  of  despair;  two  frantic  claws,  ex- 
tended, drew  one  long  red  mark  across  the 
stranger's  wrist  and  another  down  the  back  of  his 
hand  to  the  knuckles.  They  were  good,  hearty 
scratches,  and  the  blood  followed  the  artist's  lines 
rapidly;  but  of  this  the  young  man  took  no  note, 
for  he  knew  that  he  was  about  to  hear  Miss  Ca- 
rewe's  voice  for  the  first  time. 

"  They  say  the  best  way  to  hold  them,"  he  ob- 
served, "  is  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck." 

Beholding  his  wounds,  suffered  in  her  cause,  she 
gave  a  pitying  cry  that  made  his  heart  leap  with 
the  richness  and  sweetness  of  it.  Catching  the 
kitten  from  him,  she  dropped  it  to  the  ground 
in  such  wise  as  to  prove  nature's  foresight  most 
kind  in  cushioning  the  feet  of  cats. 

"  Ah !    I  didn't  want  it  that  much !  " 

"  A  cat  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  nightingales  in 
the  bush,"  he  said  boldly,  and  laughed.    "  I  would 
died  more  blood  than  that ! " 
[14] 


A  Cat  Can  Do  More  than  Look  at  a  King 

Miss  Betty  blushed  like  a  southern  dawn,  and 
started  back  from  him.  From  the  convent  but  yes- 
terday— and  she  had  taken  a  man's  hand  in  both 
of  hers ! 

It  was  to  this  tableau  that  the  lady  in  blue 
entered,  following  the  hunt  through  the  gates, 
where  she  stopped  with  a  discomposed  countenance. 
At  once,  however,  she  advanced,  and  with  a  cry 
of  greeting,  enveloped  Miss  Betty  in  a  brief 
embrace,  to  the  relief  of  the  latter's  confusion. 
It  was  Fanchon  Bareaud,  now  two  years  emanci- 
pated from  St.  Mary's,  and  far  gone  in  taffeta. 
With  her  lustreful  light  hair,  absent  blue  eyes, 
and  her  gentle  voice,  as  small  and  pretty  as  her 
face  and  figure,  it  was  not  too  difficult  to  jus- 
tify Crailey  Gray's  characterization  of  her  as 
one  of  those  winsome  baggages  who  had  made 
an  air  of  feminine  helplessness  the  fashion  of  the 
day. 

It  is  a  wicked  thing  that  some  women  should 
kiss  when  a  man  is  by ;  in  the  present  instance  the 
gentleman  became  somewhat  faint. 

"  I'm  so  glad— glad !  "  exclaimed  Betty.  "  You 
[15] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 
were  just  coming  to  see  me,  weren't  you?     My 

father  is  in  the  library.    Let  me " 

>  Miss  Bareaud  drew  back.  "  No,  no !  "  she  inter- 
rupted hastily  and  with  evident  perturbation.  "  I 
— we  must  be  on  our  way  immediately."  She  threw 
a  glance  at  the  gentleman,  which  let  him  know  that 
she  now  comprehended  his  gloves,  and  why  their 
stroll  had  trended  toward  Carewe  Street.  "  Come 
at  once !  "  she  commanded  him  quickly,  in  an  under- 
tone. 

"  But  now  that  you're  here,"  said  Miss  Betty, 
wondering  very  much  why  he  was  not  presented  to 
her,  "  won't  you  wait  and  let  me  gather  a  nosegay 
for  you?  Our  pansies  and  violets " 

"  I  could  help,"  the  gentleman  suggested,  with 
the  look  of  a  lame  dog  at  Miss  Bareaud.  "  I  have 
been  considered  useful  about  a  garden." 

"  Fool !  "  Betty  did  not  hear  the  word  that  came 
from  Miss  Bareaud's  closed  teeth,  though  she  was 
mightily  surprised  at  the  visible  agitation  of  her 
schoolmate,  for  the  latter's  face  was  pale  and  ex- 
cited. And  Miss  Carewe's  amazement  was  com- 
plete when  Fanchon,  without  more  words,  cavalierly 
[16] 


A  Cat  Can  Do  More  than  Look  at  a  King 
seized  the  gentleman's  arm  and  moved  toward  the 
street  with  him  as  rapidly  as  his  perceptible  reluc- 
tance to  leave  permitted.  But  at  the  gate  Miss 
Bareaud  turned  and  called  back  over  her  shoulder, 
as  if  remembering  the  necessity  of  offering  an 
excuse  for  so  remarkable  a  proceeding :  "  I  shall 
come  again  very  soon.  Just  now  we  are  upon  an 
errand  of  great  importance.  Good-day!" 

Miss  Betty  waved  her  hand,  staring  after  them, 
her  eyes  large  with  wonder.  She  compressed  her 
lips  tightly :  "  Errand !"  This  was  the  friend  of 
childhood's  happy  hour,  and  they  had  not  met  in 
two  years! 

"Errand!"  She  ran  to  the  hedge,  along  the 
top  of  which  a  high  white  hat  was  now  seen  peram- 
bulating; she  pressed  down  a  loose  branch,  and 
called  in  a  tender  voice  to  the  stranger  whom 
Fanchon  had  chosen  should  remain  nameless: 

"  Be  sure  to  put  some  salve  on  your  hand !" 

He  made  a  bow  which  just  missed  being  too  low, 
but  did  miss  it. 

"  It  is  there — already,"  he  said ;  and,  losing  his 
courage  after  the  bow,  made  his  speech  with  so 
117] 


The  Two  Vanrevelg 

palpable  a  gasp  before  the  last  word  that  the  dullest 
person  in  the  world  could  have  seen  that  he  meant 
it 

Miss  Betty  disappeared. 

There  was  a  rigidity  of  expression  about  the 
gentle  mouth  of  Fanchon  Bareaud,  which  her  com- 
panion did  not  enjoy,  as  they  went  on  their  way, 
each  preserving  an  uneasy  silence,  until  at  her  own 
door,  she  turned  sharply  upon  him.  "  Tom  Van- 
revel,  I  thought  you  were  the  steadiest — and  now 
you've  proved  yourself  the  craziest — soul  in 
Rouen ! "  she  burst  out.  "  And  I  couldn't  say 
worse!" 

"Why  didn't  you  present  me  to  her?"  asked 
Vanrevel. 

"Because  I  thought  a  man  of  your  gallantry 
might  prefer  not  to  face  a  shot-gun  in  the  pres- 
ence of  ladies ! " 

"Pooh!" 

"  Pooh !  "  mimicked  Miss  Bareaud.     "  You  can 

'  pooh '  as  much  as  you  like,  but  if  he  had  seen  us 

from  the  window — "     She  covered  her  face  with 

her  hands  for  a  moment,  then  dropped  them  and 

[18] 


A  Cat  Can  Do  More  than  LooTc  at  a  King 
smiled  upon  him.  "  I  understand  perfectly  to 
what  I  owe  the  pleasure  of  a  stroll  with  you  this 
morning,  and  your  casual  insistence  on  the  shadi- 
ness  of  Carewe  Street !  "  He  laughed  nervously, 
but  her  smile  vanished,  and  she  continued,  "  Keep 
away,  Tom.  She  is  beautiful,  and  at  St.  Mary's  I 
always  thought  she  had  spirit  and  wit,  too.  I  only 
hope  Crailey  won't  see  her  before  the  wedding! 
But  it  isn't  safe  for  you.  Go  along,  now,  and  ask 
Crailey  please  to  come  at  three  this  afternoon." 

This  message  from  Mr.  Gray's  betrothed  was 
not  all  the  ill-starred  Tom  conveyed  to  his  friend. 
Mr.  Vanrevel  was  ordinarily  esteemed  a  person  of 
great  reserve  and  discretion ;  nevertheless  there  was 
one  man  to  whom  he  told  everything,  and  from 
whom  he  had  no  secrets.  He  spent  the  noon  hour 
in  feeble  attempts  to  describe  to  Crailey  Gray  the 
outward  appearance  of  Miss  Elizabeth  Carewe; 
how  she  ran  like  a  young  Diana;  what  one  felt 
upon  hearing  her  voice;  and  he  presented  in  him- 
self an  example  exhibiting  something  of  the  cost 
of  looking  in  her  eyes.  His  conversation  was  more 
or  less  incoherent,  but  the  effect  of  it  was  complete. 
[19] 


CHAPTER  II 
Surviving  Evils  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 

DOES  there  exist  an  incredulous,  or  jealous, 
denizen  of  another  portion  of  our  country 
who,  knowing  that  the  room  in  the  wooden 
cupola  over  Mr.  Carewe's  library  was  commonly 
alluded  to  by  Rouen  as  the  "  Tower  Chamber,"  will 
prove  himself  so  sectionally  prejudiced  as  to  deny 
that  the  town  was  a  veritable  hotbed  of  literary  in- 
terest, or  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  ill-appreciated 
there?  Some  of  the  men  looked  sly,  and  others 
grinned,  at  mention  of  this  apartment ;  but  the  ro- 
mantic were  not  lacking  who  spoke  of  it  in  whis- 
pers: how  the  lights  sometimes  shone  there  all 
night  long,  and  the  gentlemen  drove  away,  white- 
faced,  in  the  dawn.  The  cupola,  rising  above  the 
library,  overlooked  the  garden ;  and  the  house,  save 
for  that,  was  of  a  single  story,  with  a  low  veranda 
running  the  length  of  its  front.  The  windows  of 
[20] 


Surviving  Evils  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 
the  library  and  of  a  row  of  bedrooms — one  of 
which  was  Miss  Betty's — lined  the  veranda,  "steam- 
boat fashion ;  "  the  inner  doors  of  these  rooms  all 
opening  upon  a  long  hall  which  bisected  the  house. 
The  stairway  leading  to  the  room  in  the  cupola  rose 
in  the  library  itself,  while  the  bisecting  hall  afforded 
the  only  access  to  the  library;  hence,  the  gossips, 
well  acquainted  with  the  geography  of  the  place, 
conferred  seriously  together  upon  what  effect  Miss 
Betty's  homecoming  would  have  in  this  connection : 
for  anyone  going  to  the  stairway  must  needs  pass 
her  door ;  and,  what  was  more  to  the  point,  a  party 
of  gentlemen  descending  late  from  the  mysterious 
turret  might  be  not  so  quiet  as  they  intended, 
and  the  young  lady  sufficiently  disturbed  to  in- 
quire of  her  father  what  entertainment  he  pro- 
vided that  should  keep  his  guests  until  four  in  the 
morning. 

But  at  present  it  was  with  the  opposite  end  of 
the  house  that  the  town  was  occupied,  for  there, 
workmen  were  hammering  and  sawing  and  painting 
all  day  long,  finishing  the  addition  Mr.  Carewe  was 
building  for  his  daughter's  debut.  This  hammer- 
[21] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

ing  disturbed  Miss  Betty,  who  had  become  almost 
as  busy  with  the  French  Revolution  as  with  her 
mantua-maker.  For  she  had  found  in  her  father's 
library  many  books  not  for  convent-shelves;  and 
she  had  become  a  Girondin. 

She  found  memoirs,  histories,  and  tales  of  that  de- 
lectable period,  then  not  so  dim  with  time  but  that 
the  figures  of  it  were  more  than  tragic  shadows; 
and  for  a  week  there  was  no  meal  in  that  house  to 
which  she  sat  down  earlier  than  half  an  hour  late. 
She  had  a  rightful  property-interest  in  the  Revolu- 
tion, her  own  great-uncle  having  been  one  of  those 
who  "  suffered ;"  not,  however,  under  the  guillo- 
tine; for  to  Georges  Meilhac  appertained  the  rare 
distinction  of  death  by  accident  on  the  day  when 
the  business-like  young  Bonaparte  played  upon  the 
mob  with  his  cannon. 

There  were  some  yellow  letters  of  this  great- 
uncle's  in  a  box  which  had  belonged  to  her  grand- 
mother, a  rich  discovery  for  Miss  Betty,  who  read 
and  re-read  them  with  eager  and  excited  eyes,  liv- 
ing more  in  Paris  with  Georges  and  his  friends  than 
in  Rouen  with  her  father.  Indeed,  she  had  little 
[22] 


Surviving  Evils  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 
else  to  do.  Mr.  Carewe  was  no  comrade  for  her, 
by  far  the  reverse.  She  seldom  saw  him,  except  at 
the  table,  when  he  sat  with  averted  eyes,  and  talked 
to  her  very  little;  and,  while  making  elaborate 
preparation  for  her  introduction  to  his  friends 
(such  was  his  phrase)  he  treated  her  with  a  per- 
functory civility  which  made  her  wonder  if  her  ad- 
vent was  altogether  welcome  to  him;  but  when  she 
noticed  that  his  hair  looked  darker  than  usual  about 
every  fourth  day,  she  began  to  understand  why  he 
appeared  ungrateful  to  her  for  growing  up.  He 
went  out  a  great  deal,  though  no  visitors  came  to 
the  house;  for  it  was  known  that  Mr.  Carewe  de- 
sired to  present  his  daughter  to  no  one  until  he  pre- 
sented her  to  all.  Fanchon  Bareaud,  indeed,  made 
one  hurried  and  embarrassed  call,  evading  Miss 
Betty's  reference  to  the  chevalier  of  the  kitten  with 
a  dexterity  too  nimble  to  be  thought  unintentional. 
Miss  Carewe  was  forbidden  to  return  her  friend's 
visit  until  after  her  debut;  and  Mr.  Carewe  ex- 
plained that  there  was  always  some  worthless  young 
men  hanging  about  the  Bareaud's,  where  (he  did 
not  add)  they  interfered  with  a  worthy  old  one 
[231 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

who  desired  to  honor  Fanchon's  older  sister,  Vir- 
ginia, with  his  attentions. 

This  was  no  great  hardship  for  Miss  Betty,  as, 
since  plunging  into  the  Revolution  with  her  great- 
uncle,  she  had  lost  some  curiosity  concerning  the 
men  of  to-day,  doubting  that  they  would  show  forth 
as  heroic,  as  debonnair,  gay  and  tragic  as  he.  He 
was  the  legendary  hero  of  her  childhood;  she  re- 
membered her  mother's  stories  of  him  perhaps  more 
clearly  than  she  remembered  her  mother;  and  one 
of  the  older  Sisters  had  known  him  in  Paris  and  had 
talked  of  him  at  length,  giving  the  flavor  of  his 
dandyism  and  his  beauty  at  first  hand  to  his  young 
relative.  He  had  been  one  of  those  hardy  young 
men  wearing  unbelievable  garments,  who  began  to 
appear  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  with  knives 
in  their  sleeves  and  cudgels  in  their  hands,  about 
April,  1794,  and  whose  dash  and  recklessness  in 
many  matters  were  the  first  intimations  that  the 
Citizen  Tallien  was  about  to  cause  the  Citizen 
Robespierre  to  shoot  himself  through  the  jaw. 

In  the  library  hung  a  small,  full-length  drawing 
of  Georges,  done  in  color  by  Miss  Betty's  grand- 
(24] 


Surviving  Evils  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 

mother;  and  this  she  carried  to  her  own  room  and 
studied  long  and  ardently,  until  sometimes  the  man 
himself  seemed  to  stand  before  her,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  Mile.  Meilhac  had  not  a  distinguished  tal- 
ent and  M.  Meilhac's  features  might  have  been  any- 
body's. It  was  to  be  seen,  however,  that  he  was 
smiling. 

Miss  Betty  had  an  impression  that  her  grand- 
mother's art  of  portraiture  would  have  been  more 
successful  with  the  profile  than  the  "  f ull-face." 
Nevertheless,  nothing  could  be  more  clearly  indi- 
cated than  that  the  hair  of  M.  Meilhac  was  very 
yellow,  and  his  short,  huge-lapelled  waistcoat  white, 
striped  with  scarlet.  An  enormous  cravat  cov- 
ered his  chin;  the  heavy  collar  of  his  yellow  coat 
rose  behind  his  ears,  while  its  tails  fell  to  his  ankles ; 
and  the  tight  trousers  of  white  and  yellow  stripes 
were  tied  with  white  ribbons  about  the  middle  of  the 
calf;  he  wore  white  stockings  and  gold-buckled 
yellow  shoes,  and  on  the  back  of  his  head  a  jauntily 
cocked  black  hat.  Miss  Betty  innocently  wondered 
why  his  letters  did  not  speak  of  Petion,  of  Ver- 
gniaud,  or  of  Dumoriez,  since  in  the  historical 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

novels  which  she  read,  the  hero's  lot  was  inevitably 
linked  with  that  of  everyone  of  importance  in  his 
generation ;  yet  Georges  appeared  to  have  been  un- 
acquainted with  these  personages,  Robespierre  be- 
ing the  only  name  of  consequence  mentioned  in  his 
letters ;  and  then  it  appeared  in  much  the  same  fash- 
ion practised  by  her  father  in  alluding  to  the  Gov- 
ernor of  the  State,  who  had  the  misfortune  to  be 
unpopular  with  Mr.  Carewe.  But  this  did  not  dim 
her  great-uncle's  lustre  in  Miss  Betty's  eyes,  nor 
lessen  for  her  the  pathetic  romance  of  the  smile  he 
wore. 

Beholding  this  smile,  one  remembered  the  end  to 
which  his  light  footsteps  had  led  him;  and  it  was 
unavoidable  to  picture  him  left  lying  in  the  empty 
street  behind  the  heels  of  the  flying  crowd,  care- 
fully forming  that  same  smile  on  his  lips,  and  tak- 
ing much  pride  in  passing  with  some  small,  cynical 
speech,  murmured  to  himself,  concerning  the  inu- 
tility  of  a  gentleman's  getting  shot  by  his  friends 
for  merely  being  present  to  applaud  them.  So, 
fancying  him  thus,  with  his  yellow  hair,  his  scarlet- 
striped  waistcoat,  and  his  tragedy,  the  young  girl 
[26] 


Surviving  Evils  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 
felt  a  share  of  family  greatness,  or,  at  least,  of 
picturesqueness,  descend  to  her.     And  she  smiled 
sadly   back   upon  the  smile  in  the   picture,   and 
dreamed  about  its  original  night  after  night. 

Whether  or  no  another  figure,  that  of  a  dark 
young  man  in  a  white  hat,  with  a  white  kitten  etch- 
ing his  wrist  in  red,  found  any  place  in  her  dreams 
at  this  period,  it  is  impossible  to  determine.  She 
did  not  see  him  again.  It  is  quite  another  thing, 
hazardous  to  venture,  to  state  that  he  did  not  see 
her.  At  all  events,  it  is  certain  that  many  people 
who  had  never  beheld  her  were  talking  of  her ;  that 
Rouen  was  full  of  contention  concerning  her  beauty 
and  her  gift  of  music,  for  a  song  can  be  heard 
through  an  open  window.  And  how  did  it  happen 
that  Crailey  Gray  knew  that  it  was  Miss  Carewe's 
habit  to  stroll  in  her  garden  for  half  an  hour  or  so, 
each  evening  before  retiring,  and  that  she  went  to 
mass  every  morning  soon  after  sunrise?  Crailey 
Gray  never  rose  at,  or  near,  sunrise  in  his  life, 
though  he  sometimes  beheld  it,  from  another  point 
of  view,  as  the  end  of  the  evening.  It  appears 
that  someone  must  have  told  him. 
[27] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

One  night  when  the  moon  lay  white  on  the  trees 
and  housetops,  Miss  Betty  paused  in  her  evening 
promenade  and  seated  herself  upon  a  bench  on  the 
borders  of  the  garden,  "  touched,"  as  the  books  of 
the  time  would  have  put  it,  "  by  the  sweet  tran- 
quillity of  the  scene,"  and  wrought  upon  by  the 
tender  incentive  to  sighs  and  melancholy  which 
youth  in  loneliness  finds  in  a  loveliness  of  the  earth. 
The  breeze  bore  the  smells  of  the  old-fashioned  gar- 
den, of  violets  and  cherry  blossoms,  and  a  sound  of 
distant  violins  came  on  the  air  playing  the  new  song 
from  the  new  opera. 

"  But  I  also  dreamt,  which  pleased  me  most, 
That  you  loved  me  just  the  same ** 

they  sang ;  and  with  the  lilt  of  them  and  the  keen 
beauty  of  the  night,  the  inherited  pain  of  the  ages 
rose  from  the  depths  of  the  young  girl's  heart,  so 
that  she  thought  it  must  break;  for  what  reason 
she  could  not  have  told,  since  she  was  without  care 
or  sorrow  that  she  knew,  except  the  French  Revo- 
lution, yet  tears  shone  upon  the  long  lashes.  She 
shook  them  off  and  looked  up  with  a  sudden  odd 
consciousness.  The  next  second  she  sprang  to 
[88] 


Surviving  Evils  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 
her  feet  with  a  gasp  and  a  choked  outcry,  her  hands 
pressed  to  her  breast. 

Ten  paces  in  front  of  her,  a  gap  in  the  shrubbery 
where  tall  trees  rose  left  a  small  radiant  area  of  il- 
lumination like  that  of  a  lime-light  in  a  theatre,  its 
brilliancy  intensified  by  the  dark  foliage  behind. 
It  was  open  to  view  only  from  the  bench  by  which 
she  stood,  and  appeared,  indeed,  like  the  stage  of 
a  little  theatre  a  stage  occupied  by  a  bizarre  fig- 
ure. For,  in  the  centre  of  this  shining  patch,  with 
the  light  strong  on  his  face,  was  standing  a  fair- 
haired  young  man,  dressed  in  a  yellow  coat,  a  scar- 
let and  white  striped  waistcoat,  wearing  a  jauntily 
cocked  black  hat  on  his  head.  And  even  to  the 
last  detail,  the  ribbon  laces  above  the  ankle  and  the 
gold-buckled  shoes,  he  was  the  sketch  of  Georges 
Meilhac  sprung  into  life. 

About  this  slender  figure  there  hung  a  wan  sweet- 
ness like  a  fine  mist,  almost  an  ethereality  in  that 
light;  yet  in  the  pale  face  lurked  something  reck- 
less, something  of  the  actor,  too;  and  though  his 
smile  was  gentle  and  wistful,  there  was  a  twinkle 
behind  it,  not  seen  at  first,  something  amused  and 
[29] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

impish;  a  small  surprise  underneath,  like  a  flea  in 
a  rose- jar. 

Fixed  to  the  spot  by  this  apparition,  Miss  Betty 
stood  wildly  staring,  her  straining  eyelids  showing 
the  white  above  and  below  the  large  brown  iris.  Her 
breath  came  faster  and  deeper,  until,  between  her 
parted  lips  it  became  vocal  in  a  quick  sound  like  a 
sob.  At  that  he  spoke. 

"  Forgive  me ! "  The  voice  was  low,  vibrant, 
and  so  exceedingly  musical  that  he  might  have  been 
accused  of  coolly  selecting  his  best  tone;  and  it 
became  only  sweeter  when,  even  more  softly,  in  a 
semi-whisper  of  almost  crucial  pleading,  he  said, 
"Ah— don't  go  away!" 

In  truth,  she  could  not  go;  she  had  been  too 
vitally  stirred;  she  began  to  tremble  excessively, 
and  sank  back  upon  the  bench,  motioning  him 
away  with  vague  gestures  of  her  shaking  hands. 

This  was  more  than  the  Incroyable  had  counted 
upon,  and  far  from  his  desires.  He  started  for- 
ward with  an  exclamation. 

"  Don't  come  near  me !  "  she  gasped.  "  Who 
are  you?  Go  away !  " 

[SO) 


Surviving  Evils  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 

"  Give  me  one  second  to  explain,"  he  began ;  but 
with  the  instant  reassurance  of  this  beginning  she 
cut  him  off  short,  her  fears  dispelled  by  his  com- 
monplace. Nay,  indignation  displaced  them  so 
quickly  that  she  fairly  flashed  up  before  him  to  her 
full  height. 

"  You  did  not  come  in  by  the  gate ! "  she  cried. 
'*  What  do  you  mean  by  coming  here  in  that  dress  ? 
What  right  have  you  in  my  garden?  " 

"  Just  one  word,"  he  begged  quickly,  but  very 
gently.  "You'd  allow  a  street-beggar  that  much!" 

She  stood  before  him,  panting,  and,  as  he 
thought,  glorious,  in  her  flush  of  youth  and  anger. 
Tom  Vanrevel  had  painted  her  incoherently,  but 
richly,  in  spite  of  that,  his  whole  heart  being  in  the 
portrait;  and  Crailey  Gray  had  smiled  at  what  he 
deemed  the  exaggeration  of  an  ordinarily  unim- 
pressionable man  who  had  fallen  in  love  "  at  first 
sight;"  yet,  in  the  presence  of  the  reality,  the  In- 
croyable  decided  that  Tom's  colors  had  been  gray; 
and  humble.  It  was  not  that  she  was  merely 
lovely,  that  her  nose  was  straight,  and  her  chin 
dexterously  wrought  between  square  and  oval ;  that 
[31] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

her  dark  hair  lay  soft  as  a  shadow  on  her  white 
brow ;  not  that  the  trembling  hand  she  held  against 
her  breast  sprang  from  a  taper  wrist  and  tapered 
again  to  the  tips  of  the  long  fingers ;  nor  that  she 
was  of  that  slenderness  as  strong  as  it  is  delicate; 
not  all  the  exquisite  regularity  of  line  and  mould, 
nor  simplicity  of  color,  gave  her  that  significance 
which  made  the  Incroyable  declare  to  himself  that 
he  stood  for  the  first  time  in  the  presence  of  Beauty, 
and  that  now  he  knew  the  women  he  had  been  wont 
to  call  beautiful  were  but  pretty.  And  yet  her 
beauty,  he  told  himself,  was  the  least  of  her  love- 
liness, for  there  was  a  glamour  about  her.  It  was 
not  only  the  richness  of  her  youth;  but  there  was 
an  ineffable  exhalation  which  seemed  to  be  made 
partly  of  light,  partly  of  the  very  spirit  of  her, 
and,  oddly  enough,  partly  of  the  scent  of  the  little 
fan  that  hung  by  a  ribbon  from  her  waist.  This 
was  a  woman  like  a  wine,  he  felt,  there  was  a 
bouquet. 

In  regard  to  the  bouquet  of  the  young  man  him- 
self, if  he  possessed  one,  it  is  pertinent  to  relate 
that   at   this    very    instant    the   thought   skipped 
[32] 


Surviving  Evils  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 
across  his  mind  (like  the  hop  of  a  flea  in  a  rose- jar) 
that  some  day  he  might  find  the  moment  when  he 
could  tell  her  the  truth  about  herself — with  a  half- 
laugh — and  say :  "  The  angels  sent  their  haloes  in 
a  sandal-wood  box  to  be  made  into  a  woman — and 
it  was  you !  " 

"  If  you  have  anything  to  say  for  yourself,  say 
it  quickly  !  "  said  Miss  Betty. 

"  You  were  singing  a  while  ago,"  he  answered, 
somewhat  huskily,  "  and  I  stopped  on  the  street  to 
listen ;  then  I  came  here  to  be  nearer.  The  spell  of 

your  voice "    He  broke  off  abruptly  to  change 

the  word.  "  The  spell  of  the  song  came  over  me — 
it  is  my  dearest  favorite — so  that  I  stood  afterward 
in  a  sort  of  trance,  only  hearing  again,  in  the 
silence,  *  The  stolen  heart,  like  the  gathered  rose, 
will  bloom  but  for  a  day ! '  I  did  not  see  you 
until  you  came  to  the  bench.  You  must  believe 
me :  I  would  not  have  frightened  you  for  anything 
in  the  world." 

"  Why  are  you  wearing  that  dress  ?  " 

He  laughed,  and  pointed  to  where,  behind  him  on 
the  ground,  lay  a  long  gray  cloak,  upon  which  had 
133] 


The  Two  Vanreveh 

been  tossed  a  white  mask.  "  I'm  on  my  way  to  the 
masquerade,"  he  answered,  with  an  airy  gesture  in 
the  direction  of  the  violins.  "  I'm  an  Incroyable, 
you  see;  and  I  had  the  costume  made  from  my 
recollection  of  a  sketch  of  your  great-uncle.  I 
saw  it  a  long  time  ago  in  your  library." 

Miss  Carewe's  accustomed  poise  was  quite  recov- 
ered; indeed,  she  was  astonished  to  discover  a  dis- 
tinct trace  of  disappointment  that  the  brilliant  ap- 
parition must  offer  so  tame  an  explanation.  What 
he  said  was  palpably  the  truth ;  there  was  a  masque- 
rade that  night,  she  knew,  at  the  Madrillon's,  a  little 
way  up  Carewe  Street,  and  her  father  had  gone, 
an  hour  earlier,  a  blue  domino  over  his  arm. 

The  Incroyable  was  a  person  of  almost  magical 
perceptiveness ;  he  felt  the  let-down  immediately 
and  feared  a  failure.  This  would  not  do ;  the  atti- 
tude of  tension  between  them  must  be  renewed  at 
once.  "  You'll  forgive  me  ? "  he  began,  in  a 
quickly  impassioned  tone.  "  It  was  only  after 
you  sang,  a  dream  possessed  me,  and " 

"I  cannot  stay  to  talk  with  you,"  Miss  Betty 
interrupted,  and  added,  with  a  straightforwardness 
[34] 


Surviving  Evils  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 

which  made  him  afraid  she  would  prove  lamentably 
direct :  "  I  do  not  know  you." 

Perhaps  she  remembered  that  already  one  young 
man  had  been  presented  to  her  by  no  better  spon- 
sor than  a  white  cat,  and  had  no  desire  to  carry 
her  unconventionality  farther  than  that.  In  the 
present  instance  there  was  not  even  a  kitten. 

She  turned  toward  the  house,  whereupon  he  gave 
a  little  pathetic  exclamation  of  pleading  in  a  Voice 
that  was  masterly,  being  as  sincere  as  it  was  musi- 
cal, and  he  took  a  few  leaning  steps  toward  her, 
both  hands  outstretched. 

"  One  moment  more !  "  he  cried,  as  she  turned 
again  to  him.  "  It  may  be  the  one  chance  of  my 
life  to  speak  with  you;  don't  deny  me  this.  All 
the  rest  will  meet  you  when  the  happy  evening 
comes,  will  dance  with  you,  talk  with  you,  see  you 
when  they  like,  listen  to  you  sing.  I,  alone,  must 
hover  about  the  gates,  or  steal  like  a  thief  into  your 
garden  to  hear  you  from  a  distance.  Listen  to 
me — just  this  once — for  a  moment?  " 

"  I  cannot  listen,"  she  said  firmly ;  and  stood 
quite  still.     She  was  now  in  deep  shadow. 
[35] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

**  I  will  not  believe  you  merciless !  You  would 
not  condemn  the  meanest  criminal  unheard ! "  Re- 
membering that  she  was  so  lately  from  the  convent, 
he  ventured  this  speech  in  a  deep,  thrilling  voice, 
only  to  receive  a  distinct  shock  for  his  pains,  for 
she  greeted  it  with  an  irrepressible,  most  unex- 
pected peal  of  contralto  laughter,  and  his  lips 
parted  slightly  with  the  surprise  of  it. 

They  parted  much  farther  in  the  next  instant — 
in  good  truth,  it  may  be  stated  of  the  gentleman 
that  he  was  left  with  his  mouth  open — for,  sud- 
denly leaning  toward  him  out  of  the  shadow  into 
the  light,  her  face  shining  as  a  cast  of  tragedy,  she 
cried  in  a  hoarse  whisper: 

"  Are  you  a  murderer?  " 

And  with  that  and  a  whisk  of  her  skirts,  and  a 
footfall  on  the  gravel  path,  she  was  gone.  He 
stood  dumbfounded,  poor  comedian,  having  come 
to  play  the  chief  role,  but  to  find  the  scene  taken 
out  of  his  hands.  Then  catching  the  flutter  of  her 
wrap,  as  she  disappeared  into  the  darkness  of  the 
veranda,  he  cried  in  a  loud,  manly  voice : 

"  You  are  a  dear!  " 

[36] 


Surviving  Evils  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 
As  he  came  out  into  the  street  through  a  gap  in 
the  hedge,  he  paused,  drawing  his  cloak  about  him, 
and  lifted  his  face  to  the  eastern  moon.  It  was  a 
strange  face :  the  modelling  most  like  what  is  called 
"  Greek,"  save  for  the  nose,  which  was  a  trifle  too 
short  for  that,  and  the  features  showed  a  happy 
purity  of  outline  almost  childlike;  the  blue  eyes, 
clear,  fleckless,  serenely  irresponsible,  with  more 
the  look  of  refusing  responsibility  than  being  un- 
conscious of  it ;  eyes  without  care,  without  prudence, 
and  without  evil.  A  stranger  might  have  said 
he  was  about  twenty-five  and  had  never  a  thought 
in  his  life.  There  were  some  blossoms  on  the  hedge, 
and  he  touched  one  lightly,  as  though  he  chucked 
it  under  the  chin;  he  smiled  upon  it  then,  but  not 
as  he  had  smiled  upon  Miss  Betty,  for  this  was  his 
own,  the  smile  that  came  when  he  was  alone ;  and, 
when  it  came,  the  face  was  no  longer  joyous  as  it 
had  been  in  repose;  there  was  an  infinite  patience 
and  worn  tolerance — possibly  for  himself.  This 
incongruous  and  melancholy  smile  was  astonishing : 
one  looked  for  the  laughter  of  a  boy  and  found,  in- 
stead, a  gentle,  worldly,  old  prelate. 
[371 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

Standing  there,  all  alone  in  the  moonlight,  by 
the  hedge,  he  lifted  both  hands  high  and  waved 
them  toward  the  house,  as  children  wave  to  each 
other  across  lawns  at  twilight.  After  that  he  made 
a  fantastic  bow  to  his  corrugated  shadow  on  the 
board  sidewalk. 

"Again,  you  rogue!"  he  exclaimed  aloud. 
Then,  as  he  faced  about  and  began  to  walk  in  the 
direction  of  the  beckoning  violins :  "  I  wonder  if 
Tom's  kitten  was  better,  after  all !  " 


[88] 


CHAPTER  III 

The  Rogue's  Gallery  of  a  Father  Should 

be  Exhibited  to  a  Daughter  with 

Particular  Care 

THOSE  angels  appointed  to  be  guardians 
of  the  merry  people  of  Rouen,  poising  one 
night,  between  earth  and  stars,  discovered 
a  single  brilliant  and  resonant  spot,  set  in  the  midst 
of  the  dark,  quiet  town  like  a  jewelled  music-box  on 
a  black  cloth.  Sounds  of  revelry  and  the  dance 
from  the  luminous  spot  came  up  through  the  sum- 
mer stillness  to  the  weary  guardians  all  night  long, 
until,  at  last,  when  a  red  glow  stole  into  the  east, 
and  the  dance  still  continued,  nay,  grew  faster  than 
ever,  the  celestial  watchers  found  the  work  too 
heavy  for  their  strength,  and  forthwith  departed, 
leaving  the  dancers  to  their  own  devices;  for,  as 
everyone  knows,  when  a  dance  lasts  till  daylight, 
guardian  angels  flee. 

[39] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

All  night  long  the  fiddles  n~J  been  swinging 
away  at  their  best ;  all  night  long  the  candles  had 
shone  in  thin  rows  of  bright  orange  through  the 
slits  of  the  window-blinds;  but  now,  as  the  day 
broke  over  the  maples,  the  shutters  were  flung  open 
by  laughing  young  men,  and  the  drivers  of  the  car- 
riages, waiting  in  the  dusty  street,  pressed  up  closer 
to  the  hedge,  or  came  within  and  stretched  them- 
selves upon  the  lawn,  to  see  the  people  wait/ing  in 
the  daylight.  The  horses,  having  no  such  desires, 
stood  with  loosened  check-reins,  slightly  twitching 
their  upper  lips,  wistful  of  the  tall  grass  which  bor- 
dered the  wooden  sidewalk,  though  now  and  then 
one  would  lift  his  head  high,  sniffing  the  morning 
air  and  bending  an  earnest  gaze  not  upon  the  dan- 
cers but  upon  the  florid  east. 

Over  the  unwearied  plaint  of  French-horn,  vio- 
lin, and  bassoon,  rose  a  silvery  confusion  of  voices 
and  laughter  and  the  sound  of  a  hundred  footfalls 
in  unison,  while,  from  the  open  windows  there  is- 
sued a  warm  breath,  heavily  laden  with  the  smell 
of  scented  fans,  of  rich  fabrics,  of  dying  roses,  to 
mingle  with  the  spicy  perfume  of  a  wild  crab-tree 
[40] 


The  Rogue's  Gallery  of  a  Father 
in  fullest  blossom,  which  stood  near  enough  to  peer 
into  the  ball-room,  and,  like  a  brocaded  belle  her- 
self, challenge  the  richest  to  show  raiment  as  fine, 
the  loveliest  to  look  as  fair  and  joyful  in  the  dawn. 

*'  Believe  me,  if  all  thost  endearing  young  charms, 

Which  I  gaze  on  so  fondly  to-day, 
Were  to  fade  by  to-morrow  and  fleet  from  my  armst 
Like  fairy  gifts  fading  away " 

So  ran  the  violins  in  waltz  time,  so  bassoon  and 
horn  to  those  dulcet  measures;  and  then,  with  one 
accord,  a  hundred  voices  joined  them  in  the  old, 
sweet  melody : 

«•  Thou  wouldst  still  be  adored  cu  this  moment  thou  art, 

Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  it  witt  ; 
And  around  the  dear  ruin  each  wish  of  my  heart 
Would  entwine  itself  verdantly  still." 

And  the  jealous  crab- tree  found  but  one  to  over- 
match itself  in  beauty :  a  lady  who  was  the  focus  of 
the  singing ;  for,  by  the  time  the  shutters  were  flung 
open,  there  was  not  a  young  man  in  the  room, 
kcked  he  never  so  greatly  in  music  or  in  voice,  who 
[41] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

did  not  heartily  desire  to  sing  to  Miss  Betty  Ca- 
rewe,  and  who  did  not  now  (  craning  neck  over  part- 
ner's shoulder)  seek  to  fix  her  with  his  glittering 
eye,  while  he  sang  "  Oh,  believe  me  "  most  directly 
and  conspicuously  at  her.  For  that  night  was  the 
beginning  of  Miss  Betty's  famous  career  as  the 
belle  of  Rouen,  and  was  the  date  from  which 
strangers  were  to  hear  of  her  as  "  the  beautiful 
Miss  Carewe,"  until  "  beautiful "  was  left  off,  vis- 
itors to  the  town  being  supposed  to  have  heard  at 
least  that  much  before  they  came. 

There  had  been  much  discussion  of  her,  though 
only  one  or  two  had  caught  glimpses  of  her;  but 
most  of  the  gallants  appeared  to  agree  with  Crailey 
Gray,  who  aired  his  opinion — in  an  exceedingly 
casual  way — at  the  little  club  on  Main  Street.  Mr. 
Gray  held  that  when  the  daughter  of  a  man  as  rich 
as  Bob  Carewe  was  heralded  as  a  beauty  the  chances 
were  that  she  would  prove  disappointing,  and,  for 
his  part,  he  was  not  even  interested  enough  to  at- 
tend and  investigate.  So  he  was  going  down  the 
river  in  a  canoe  and  preferred  the  shyness  of  bass 
to  that  of  a  girl  of  eighteen  just  from  the  con- 
[42] 


The  Rogue's  Gallery  of  a  Father 
vent,  he  said.  Tom  Vanrevel  was  not  present  on  the 
occasion  of  these  remarks,  and  the  general  concur- 
rence with  Crailey  may  be  suspected  as  a  purely 
verbal  one,  since,  when  the  evening  came,  two  of 
the  most  enthusiastic  dancers  and  love-makers  of 
the  town,  the  handsome  Tappingham  Marsh  and 
that  doughty  ex-dragoon  and  Indian  fighter,  stout 
old  General  Trumble,  were  upon  the  field  before 
the  enemy  appeared;  that  is  to  say,  they  were  in 
the  new  ball-room  before  their  host;  indeed,  the 
musicians  had  not  arrived,  and  Nelson,  an  aged 
negro  servitor,  was  engaged  in  lighting  the  house. 

The  crafty  pair  had  planned  this  early  descent 
with  a  view  to  monopoly  by  right  of  priority,  in 
case  the  game  proved  worth  the  candle,  and  they 
were  leaning  effectively  against  the  little  railing 
about  the  musicians'  platform  when  Mr.  Carewe 
entered  the  room  with  his  daughter  on  his  arm. 

She  was  in  white,  touched  with  countless  small 
lavender  flowers ;  there  were  rows  and  rows  of  won- 
derful silk  and  lace  flounces  on  her  skirt,  and  her 
fan  hung  from  a  rope  of  great  pearls.  Ah,  hid- 
eous, blue,  rough  cloth  of  the  convent,  unfor- 
[43] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

gotten,  but  laid  aside  forever,  what  a  chrysalis  you 
were! 

Tappingham  twitched  his  companion's  sleeve, 
but  the  General  was  already  posing;  and  neither 
heard  the  words  of  presentation,  because  Miss 
Betty  gave  each  of  them  a  quick  look,  then  smiled 
upon  them  as  they  bowed;  the  slayers  were  pros- 
trated before  their  prey.  Never  were  lady-killers 
more  instantaneously  tamed  and  subjugated  by  the 
power  of  the  feminine  eye.  Will  Cummings  came 
in  soon,  and,  almost  upon  his  heels,  Eugene  Ma- 
drillon  and  young  Frank  Chenoweth.  No  others 
appeared  for  half  an  hour,  and  the  five  gentlemen 
looked  at  one  another  aside,  each  divining  his  own 
diplomacy  in  his  fellow's  eye,  and  each  laboriously 
explaining  to  the  others  his  own  mistake  in  regard 
to  the  hour  designated  upon  Mr.  Carewe's  cards  of 
invitation.  This  small  embarrassment,  however, 
did  not  prevent  General  Trumble  and  young  Mr. 
Chenoweth  from  coming  to  high  words  over  Miss 
Carewe's  little,  gilt-filigree  "programme"  of 
dances. 

It  may  be  not  untimely  to  remark,  also,  of  these 


The  Rogue's  Gallery  of  a  Father 

five  redoubtable  beaux,  that,  during  the  evening, 
it  occurred  to  every  one  of  them  to  be  glad  that 
Crailey  Gray  was  betrothed  to  Fanchon  Bareaud, 
and  that  he  was  down  on  the  Rouen  River  with  a 
canoe,  a  rod  and  a  tent.  Nay,  without  more  words, 
to  declare  the  truth  in  regard  to  Crailey,  they  felt 
greater  security  in  his  absence  from  the  field  than 
in  his  betrothal.  As  Mr.  Chenoweth,  a  youth  as 
open  as  out-of-doors,  both  in  countenance  and 
mind,  observed  plaintively  to  Tappingham  Marsh 
in  a  corner,  while  they  watched  Miss  Betty's 
lavender  flowers  miraculously  swirling  through  a 
quadrille :  "  Crailey,  you  know,  well,  Crailey's  been 
engaged  before ! "  It  was  not  Mr.  Chenoweth's 
habit  to  disguise  his  apprehensions,  and  Crailey 
Gray  would  not  fish  for  bass  forever. 

The  same  Chenoweth  was  he,  who,  maddened  by 
the  General's  triumphantly  familiar  way  of  toying 
with  Miss  Betty's  fan  between  two  dances,  at- 
tempted to  propose  to  her  during  the  sunrise  waltz. 
Having  sung  "  Oh,  believe  me "  in  her  ear  as 
loudly  as  he  could,  he  expressed  the  wish — quite  as 
loudly — "  That  this  waltz  might  last  for  always !  " 
[45] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

That  was  the  seventh  time  it  had  been  said  to 
Betty  during  the  night,  and  though  Mr.  Cheno- 
weth's  predecessors  had  revealed  their  desires  in  a 
guise  lacking  this  prodigious  artlessness,  she  al- 
ready possessed  no  novel  acquaintance  with  the 
exclamation.  But  she  made  no  comment ;  her  part- 
ner's style  was  not  a  stimulant  to  repartee.  "  It 
would  be  heaven,"  he  amplified  earnestly,  "  it 
would  be  heaven  to  dance  with  you  forever — on  a 
desert  isle  where  the  others  couldn't  come !  "  he  fin- 
ished with  sudden  acerbity  as  his  eye  caught  the 
General's. 

He  proceeded,  and  only  the  cessation  of  the 
music  aided  Miss  Carewe  in  stopping  the  declara- 
tion before  it  was  altogether  out ;  and  at  that  point 
Frank's  own  father  came  to  her  rescue,  though  in 
a  fashion  little  saving  of  her  confusion.  The  elder 
Chenoweth  was  one  of  the  gallant  and  kindly 
Southern  colony  that  made  it  natural  for  Rouen 
always  to  speak  of  Miss  Carewe  as  "  Miss  Betty." 
He  was  a  handsome  old  fellow,  whose  hair,  long 
moustache  and  imperial  were  as  white  as  he  was 
proud  of  them,  a  Virginian  with  the  admirable 
[46] 


The  Rogue's  Gallery  of  a  Father 
Southern  fearlessness  of  being  thought  sentimen- 
tal. Mounting  a  chair  with  complete  dignity,  he 
lifted  a  glass  of  wine  high  in  the  air,  and,  when 
all  the  other  glasses  had  been  filled,  proposed  the 
health  of  his  young  hostess.  He  made  a  speech  of 
some  length,  pronouncing  himself  quite  as  hope- 
lessly in  love  with  his  old  friend's  daughter  as  all 
could  see  his  own  son  was;  and  wishing  her  long 
life  and  prosperity,  with  many  allusions  to  fra- 
grant bowers  and  the  Muses. 

It  made  Miss  Betty  happy,  but  it  was  rather 
trying,  too,  for  she  could  only  stand  with  down- 
cast eyes  before  them  all,  trembling  a  little,  and 
receiving  a  mixed  impression  of  Mr.  Chenoweth's 
remarks,  catching  fragments  here  and  there: 
"And  may  the  blush  upon  that  gentle  cheek, 
lovelier  than  the  radiant  clouds  at  set  of  sun," 
and  "  Yet  the  sands  of  the  hour-glass  must  fall, 
and  in  the  calm  and  beauteous  old  age  some  day 
to  be  her  lot,  when  fond  mem'ry  leads  her  back  to 
view  again  the  brilliant  scene  about  her  now, 
where  stand  '  fair  women  and  brave  men,'  wine- 
cup  in  hand  to  do  her  honor,  oh,  may  she  wipe  the 

[*] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

silent  tear,"  and  the  like.  As  the  old  gentleman 
finished,  and  before  the  toast  was  drunk,  Fanchon 
Bareaud,  kissing  her  hand  to  Betty,  took  up  the 
song  again;  and  they  all  joined  in,  lifting  their 
glasses  to  the  blushing  and  happy  girl  clinging  to 
her  father's  arm: 

«•  Thou  wouldst  still  be  adored  as  this  moment  thou  art, 

Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  it  will; 

";'         And  around  the  dear  ruin,  each  wish  of  my  heart, 
I  Would  entwine  itself  verdantly  still." 

They  were  happy  people  who  had  not  learned 
to  be  self-conscious  enough  to  fear  doing  a  pretty 
thing  openly  without  mocking  themselves  for  it; 
and  it  was  a  brave  circle  they  made  about  Betty 
Carewe,  the  charming  faces  of  the  women  and  their 
fine  furbelows,  handsome  men  and  tall,  all  so  gay, 
so  cheerily  smiling,  and  yet  so  earnest  in  their  wel- 
come to  her.  No  one  was  afraid  to  "  let  out "  his 
voice;  their  song  went  full  and  strong  over  the 
waking  town,  and  when  it  was  finished  the  ball  was 
over,  too. 

The  veranda  and  the  path  to  the  gate  became  like 
[48] 


The  Rogue's  Gallery  of  a  Father 
tropic  gardens,  the  fair  colors  of  the  women's 
dresses,  ballooning  in  the  early  breeze,  making  the 
place  seem  strewn  with  giant  blossoms.  They  all 
went  away  at  the  same  time,  those  in  carriages  call- 
ing farewells  to  each  other  and  to  the  little  proces- 
sions departing  on  foot  in  different  directions  to 
homes  near  by.  The  sound  of  the  voices  and  laugh- 
ter drew  away,  slowly  died  out  altogether,  and  the 
silence  of  the  street  was  strange  and  unfamiliar  to 
Betty.  She  went  to  the  hedge  and  watched  the 
musicians,  who  were  the  last  to  go,  until  they  passed 
from  sight:  little  black  toilsome  figures,  carrying 
grotesque  black  boxes.  While  she  could  still  see 
them,  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  ball  was  not  quite 
over,  and  she  wished  to  hold  the  least  speck  of  it  as 
long  as  she  could ;  but  when  they  had  disappeared, 
she  faced  the  truth  with  a  deep  sigh:  the  long, 
glorious  night  was  finished  indeed. 

What  she  needed  now  was  another  girl:  the  two 
would  have  gone  to  Betty's  room  and  danced  it  all 
over  again  until  noon ;  but  she  had  only  her  father. 
She  found  him  smoking  a  Principe  cigar  upon  the 
veranda,  so  she  seated  herself  timidly,  nevertheless 
[*9J 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

with  a  hopeful  glance  at  him,  on  the  steps  at  his 
feet;  and,  as  she  did  so,  he  looked  down  upon  her 
with  something  more  akin  to  geniality  than  any- 
thing she  had  ever  seen  in  his  eye  before.  It  was 
not  geniality  itself,  but  might  be  third  cousin  to  it. 
Indeed,  in  his  way,  he  was  almost  proud  of  her, 
though  he  had  no  wish  to  show  it.  Since  one  was 
compelled  to  display  the  fact  that  one  possessed 
a  grown  daughter,  it  was  well  that  she  be  like  this 
one. 

They  did  not  know  each  other  very  well,  and  she 
often  doubted  that  they  would  ever  become  inti- 
mate. There  was  no  sense  of  companionship  for 
either  in  the  other;  she  had  been  unable  to  break 
through  his  perfunctory,  almost  formal,  manner 
with  her;  therefore,  because  he  encouraged  no  af- 
fection in  her,  she  felt  none,  and  wondered  why, 
since  he  was  her  father.  She  was  more  curious 
about  him  than  interested,  and,  though  she  did 
not  know  it,  she  was  prepared  to  judge  him — should 
occasion  arise — precisely  as  she  would  judge  any 
other  mere  acquaintance.  This  morning,  for  the 
first  time,  she  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  warmth 
[50] 


The  Rogue's  Gallery  of  a  Father 
and  gratitude  toward  him :  the  elaborate  fashion  in 
which  he  had  introduced  her  to  his  friends  made  it 
appear  possible  that  he  liked  her;  for  he  had  for- 
gotten nothing,  and  to  remember  everything  in  this 
case  was  to  be  lavish,  which  has  often  the  appear- 
ance of  generosity. 

And  yet  there  had  been  a  lack :  some  small  thing 
she  had  missed,  though  she  was  not  entirely  sure 
that  she  identified  it;  but  the  lack  had  not  been 
in  her  father  or  in  anytlu'ng  he  had  done.  Then, 
too,  there  was  something  so  unexpectedly  human 
and  pleasant  in  his  not  going  to  bed  at  once,  but 
remaining  to  smoke  on  the  veranda  at  this  hour, 
that  she  gave  him  credit  for  a  little  of  her  own  ex- 
citement, innocently  fancying  that  he,  also,  might 
feel  the  need  of  a  companion  with  whom  to  talk 
over  the  brilliant  passages  of  the  night.  And  a 
moment  ensued  when  she  debated  taking  lu's  hand. 
She  was  too  soon  glad  that  her  intuition  forbade 
the  demonstration. 

"  It  was  all  so  beautiful,  papa,"  she  said,  timidly. 
"  I  have  no  way  to  tell  you  how  I  thank  you." 

"  You  may  do  that,"  he  replied,  evenly,  with  no 
[51] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

unkindness,  with  no  kindness,  either,  in  the  level  of 
his  tone,  "  by  never  dancing  again  more  than  twice 
with  one  man  in  one  evening." 

"  I  think  I  should  much  prefer  not,  myself," 
she  returned,  lifting  her  head  to  face  him  gravely. 
"  I  believe  if  I  cared  to  dance  more  than  once 
with  one,  I  should  like  to  dance  all  of  them  with 
him." 

Mr.  Carewe  frowned.  "  I  trust  that  you  discov- 
ered none  last  night  whom  you  wished  to  honor 
with  your  entire  programme  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  laughed,  "  not  last  night." 

Her  father  tossed  away  his  cigar  abruptly.  "  Is 
it  too  much  to  hope,"  he  inquired,  "  that  when  you 
discover  a  gentleman  with  whom  you  desire  to  waltz 
all  night,  you  will  omit  to  mention  the  fact  to 
him?" 

There  was  a  brief  flash  of  her  eye  as  she  recalled 
her  impulse  to  take  his  hand,  but  she  immediately 
looked  at  him  with  such  complete  seriousness  that 
he  feared  his  irony  had  been  thrown  away. 

"  I'll  remember  not  to  mention  it,"  she  answered. 
"  I'll  tell  him  you  told  me  not  to." 
[52] 


The  Rogue's  Gallery  of  a  Father 

"  I  think  you  may  retire  now,"  said  Mr.  Carewe, 
sharply. 

She  rose  from  the  steps,  went  to  the  door,  then 
turned  at  the  threshold.  "  Were  all  your  friends 
here,  papa?  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  every  ninny  who  gabbled  in 
my  house  last  night  was  my  friend  ?  "  he  said,  an- 
grily. "  There  was  one  friend  of  mine,  Mrs.  Tan- 
berry,  who  wasn't  here,  because  she  is  out  of  town ; 
but  I  do  not  imagine  that  you  are  inquiring  about 
women.  You  mean:  Was  every  unmarried  male 
idiot  who  could  afford  a  swallow-tailed  coat  and  a 
clean  pair  of  gloves  cavorting  about  the  place? 
Yes,  miss,  they  were  all  here  except  two,  and  one 
of  those  is  a  fool,  the  other  a  knave." 

"  Can't  I  know  the  fool?  "  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"  I  rejoice  to  find  them  so  rare  in  your  expe- 
rience !  "  he  retorted.  "  This  one  is  out  of  town, 
though  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  see  him  sufficiently 
often  when  he  returns.  His  name  is  Crailey  Gray, 
and  he  is  to  marry  Fanchon  Bareaud — if  he  re- 
members ! " 

"And  the  knave?" 

(53] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

"  Is  one !  "  Carewe  shut  his  teeth  with  a  veno- 
mous snap,  and  his  whole  face  reddened  suddenly. 
"  I'll  mention  this  fellow  once — now,"  he  said, 
speaking  each  word  with  emphasis.  "  His  name  is 
Vanrevel.  You  see  that  gate;  you  see  the  line  of 
my  property  there:  the  man  himself,  as  well  as 
every  other  person  in  the  town,  remembers  well  that 
the  last  time  I  spoke  to  him,  it  was  to  tell  him  that 
if  he  ever  set  foot  on  ground  of  mine  I'd  shoot  him 
down,  and  he  knows,  and  they  all  know,  I  shall  keep 
my  word !  Elsewhere,  I  told  him  that  for  the  sake 
of  public  peace,  I  should  ignore  him.  I  do.  You 
will  see  him  everywhere ;  but  it  will  not  be  difficult ; 
no  one  will  have  the  hardihood  to  present  him  to 
my  daughter.  The  quarrel  between  us — "  Mr. 
Carewe  broke  off  for  a  moment,  his  hands  clinch- 
ing the  arms  of  his  chair,  while  he  swallowed  with 
difficulty,  as  though  he  choked  upon  some  acrid 
bolus,  and  he  was  so  strongly  agitated  by  his  own 
mention  of  his  enemy  that  he  controlled  himself  by 
a  painful  effort  of  his  will.  "  The  quarrel  be- 
tween us  is  political — and  personal.  You  will 
remember." 

(54J 


The  Rogue's  Gallery  of  a  Father 
"  I  shall  remember,"  she  answered  in  a  rather 
frightened  voice. 

...  It  was  long  before  she  fell  asleep.  "  I 
alone  must  hover  about  the  gates  or  steal  into 
your  garden  like  a  thief,"  the  Incroyable  had  said. 
"  The  last  time  I  spoke  to  him  it  was  to  tell  him 
that  if  he  ever  set  foot  on  ground  of  mine,  I'd  shoot 
him  down !  "  had  been  her  father's  declaration.  And 
Mr.  Carewe  had  spoken  with  the  most  undeniable 
air  of  meaning  what  he  said.  Yet  she  knew  that 
the  Incroyable  would  come  again. 

Also,  with  hot  cheeks  pressed  into  her  pillow, 
Miss  Betty  had  identified  the  young  man  in  the 
white  hat,  that  dark  person  whose  hand  she  had  far 
too  impetuously  seized  in  both  of  hers.  Aha!  It 
was  this  gentleman  who  looked  into  people's  eyes 
and  stammered  so  sincerely  over  a  pretty  speech 
that  you  almost  believed  him,  it  was  he  who  was  to 
marry  Fanchon  Bareaud — "  if  he  remembers!  " 
No  wonder  Fanchon  had  been  in  such  a  hurry 
to  get  him  away.  .  .  .  "  If  he  remembers!  " 
Such  was  that  young  man's  character,  was  it? 
Miss  Carewe  laughed  aloud  to  her  pillow :  for,  was 
[55] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

one  to  guess  the  reason,  also,  of  his  not  having 
come  to  her  ball?  Had  the  poor  man  been  com- 
manded to  be  "  out  of  town  ?  " 

Then,  remembering  the  piquant  and  generous 
face  of  Fanchon,  Betty  clinched  her  fingers  tightly 
and  crushed  the  imp  who  had  suggested  the  un- 
worthy thought,  crushed  him  to  a  wretched  pulp 
and  threw  him  out  of  the  open  window.  He  im- 
mediately sneaked  in  by  the  back  way,  for,  in  spite 
of  her  victory,  she  still  felt  a  little  sorry  for  poor 
Fanchon. 


[56] 


CHAPTER  IV 
"But  Spare   Your   Country's  Flag" 

IF  it  be  true  that  love  is  the  great  incentive  to 
the  useless  arts,  the  number  of  gentlemen  who 
became  poets  for  the  sake  of  Miss  Betty  Ca- 
rewe  need  not  be  considered  extraordinary.  Of  all 
that  was  written  of  her  dancing,  Tom  VanrevePs 
lines,  « I  Danced  with  Her  beneath  the  Lights  " 
(which  he  certainly  had  not  done  when  he  wrote 
them)  were,  perhaps,  next  to  Crailey  Gray's  in 
merit,  though  Tom  burned  his  rhymes  after  read- 
ing them  to  Crailey.  Other  troubadours  were  not 
so  modest,  and  the  Rouen  Journal  found  no  lack 
of  tuneful  offering,  that  spring,  generously  print- 
ing all  of  it,  even  at  the  period  when  it  became 
epidemic.  The  public  had  little  difficulty  in  recog- 
nizing the  work  of  Mr.  Francis  Chenoweth  in 
an  anonymous  "  Sonnet "  (of  twenty-three  lines) 
which  appeared  in  the  issue  following  Miss  Ca- 
'[57] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

rewe's  debut.  Mr.  Chenoweth  wrote  that  while 
dancing  the  mazourka  with  a  Lovely  Being,  the 
sweetest  feelings  of  his  soul,  in  a  celestial  stream, 
bore  him  away  beyond  control,  in  a  seraphic  dream ; 
and  he  untruthfully  stated  that  at  the  same  time  he 
saw  her  wipe  the  silent  tear,  omitting,  however,  to 
venture  any  explanation  of  the  cause  of  her  emo- 
tion. Old  General  Trumble  boldly  signed  his  poem 
in  full.  It  was  called  "  An  Ode  upon  Miss  C — *s 

Waltzing,"  and  it  began : 

r         ' 

M  When  Bettina  found  fair  Rouen"g  short, 
And  her  aged  father  to  us  bore 
Her  from  the  cloister  neat, 
She  waltzed  upon  the  ball-room  floor, 
And  lightly  twirled  upon  her  feet." 

Mr.  Carewe  was  rightfully  indignant,  and  re- 
fused to  acknowledge  the  General's  salutation  at 
their  next  meeting:  Trumble  was  fifteen  years 
older  than  he. 

As  Crailey  Gray  never  danced  with  Miss  Carewe, 

it  is  somewhat  singular  that  she  should  have  been 

the    inspiration   of  his   swinging   verses   in  waltz 

measure,  "  Heart-strings  on  a  Violin,"  the  sense  of 

[58] 


"  But  Spare  Your  Country's  Flag  " 
which  was  that  when  a  violin  had  played  for  her 
dancing,  the  instrument  should  be  shattered  as 
wine-glasses  are  after  a  great  toast.  However,  no 
one,  except  the  author  himself,  knew  that  Betty 
was  the  subject;  for  Crailey  certainly  did  not  men- 
tion it  to  Miss  Bareaud,  nor  to  his  best  friend, 
Vanrevel. 

It  was  to  some  degree  a  strange  comradeship 
between  these  two  young  men ;  their  tastes  led  them 
so  often  in  opposite  directions.  They  had  rooms  to- 
gether over  their  offices  in  the  "  Madrillon  Block  " 
on  Main  Street,  and  the  lights  shone  late  from 
their  windows  every  night  in  the  year.  Sometimes 
that  would  mean  only  that  the  two  friends  were 
talking,  for  they  never  reached  a  silent  intimacy, 
but,  even  after  several  years  of  companionship, 
were  rarely  seen  together  when  not  in  interested, 
often  eager,  conversation,  so  that  people  wondered 
what  in  the  world  they  still  found  to  say  to  each 
other.  But  many  a  night  the  late-shining  lamp 
meant  that  Tom  sat  alone,  with  a  brief  or  a  book, 
or  wooed  the  lorn  hours  with  his  magical  guitar. 
For  he  never  went  to  bed  until  the  other  came  home. 
[59] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

And  if  daylight  came  without  Crailey,  Vanrevel 
would  go  out,  yawning  mightily,  to  look  for  him; 
and  when  there  was  no  finding  him,  Tom  would 
come  back,  sleepless,  to  the  day's  work. 

Crailey  was  called  "  peculiar :"  and  he  explained, 
with  a  kind  of  jovial  helplessness,  that  he  was  al- 
ways prepared  for  the  unexpected  in  himself,  nor 
did  such  a  view  detract  from  his  picturesqueness 
to  his  own  perusal  of  himself;  though  it  was  not 
only  to  himself  that  he  was  interesting.  To  the 
vision  of  the  lookers-on  in  Rouen,  quiet  souls  who 
hovered  along  the  walls  at  merry-makings  and 
cheerfully  counted  themselves  spectators  at  the 
play,  Crailey  Gray  held  the  centre  of  the  stage 
and  was  the  chief  comedian  of  the  place.  Wit, 
poet,  and  scapegrace,  the  small  society  sometimes 
seemed  the  mere  background  set  for  his  perform- 
ances, spectacles  which  he,  also,  enjoyed,  and  from 
the  best  seat  in  the  house;  for  he  was  not  content 
as  the  actor,  but  must  be  the  Prince  in  the  box 
as  well. 

His  friendship  for  Tom  Vanrevel  was,  in  a  meas- 
ure, that  of  the  vine  for  the  oak.     He  was  full  of 
[60] 


"  But  Spare  Your  Country's  Flag  " 
levities  at  Tom's  expense,  which  the  other  bore  with 
a  grin  of  sympathetic  comprehension,  or,  at  long 
intervals,  returned  upon  Crailey  with  devastating 
effect.  Vanrevel  was  the  one  steadying  thing  in  his 
life,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  only  one  of  the 
young  men  upon  whom  he  did  not  have  an  almost 
mesmeric  influence.  In  good  truth,  Crailey  was  the 
ringleader  in  all  the  devilries  of  the  town.  Many 
a  youth  swore  to  avoid  the  roisterer's  company  for 
all  time,  and,  within  two  hours  of  the  vow,  found 
himself,  flagon  in  hand,  engaged  in  a  bout  that 
would  last  the  night,  with  Mr.  Gray  out-bumpering 
the  hardiest,  at  the  head  of  the  table.  And,  the 
next  morning,  the  fevered,  scarlet-eyed  perjurer 
might  creep  shaking  to  his  wretched  tasks,  only 
to  behold  the  cause  of  his  folly  and  headache 
tripping  merrily  along  the  street,  smiling,  clean- 
shaven, and  fresh  as  a  dew-born  primrose,  with,  per- 
chance, two  or  three  of  the  prettiest  girls  in  town 
at  his  elbow  to  greet  his  sallies  with  approving 
laughter. 

Crailey  had  been  so  long  in  the  habit  of  follow- 
ing every  impulse,  no  matter  how  mad,  that  he  en- 
161) 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

joyed  an  almost  perfect  immunity  from  condemna- 
tion, and,  whatever  his  deeds,  Rouen  had  learned  to 
say,  with  a  chuckle,  that  it  was  "  only  Crailey  Gray 
again."  But  his  followers  were  not  so  privileged. 
Thus,  when  Mr.  Gray,  who  in  his  libations  some- 
times developed  the  humor  of  an  urchin,  went  to  the 
Pound  at  three  in  the  morning  of  New  Year's  Day, 
hung  sleigh-bells  about  the  necks  of  the  cattle  and 
drove  them  up  and  down  the  streets,  himself  hide- 
ously blowing  a  bass  horn  from  the  back  of  a  big 
brown  steer,  those  roused  from  slumber  ceased  to 
rage,  and  accepted  the  exploit  as  a  rare  joke,  on 
learning  that  it  was  "  only  Crailey  Gray ;"  but  the 
unfortunate  young  Chenoweth  was  heavily  frowned 
upon  and  properly  upbraided  because  he  had  fol- 
lowed in  the  wake  of  the  bovine  procession,  mildly 
attempting  to  play  upon  a  flageolet. 

Crailey  never  denied  a  folly  nor  defended  an  es- 
capade. The  latter  was  always  done  for  him,  be- 
cause he  talked  of  his  "  graceless  misdoings  "  (so 
he  was  wont,  smilingly,  to  call  them)  over  cups  of 
tea  in  the  afternoons  with  old  ladies,  lamenting,  in 
his  musical  voice,  the  lack  of  female  relatives  to 
[62] 


"  But  Spare  Your  Country's  Flag  " 
guide  him.  He  was  charmingly  attentive  to  the 
elderly  women,  not  from  policy,  but  because  his 
manner  was  uncontrollably  chivalrous ;  and,  ever 
a  gallant  listener,  were  the  speaker  young,  old, 
great  or  humble,  he  never  forgot  to  catch  the  last 
words  of  a  sentence,  and  seldom  suffered  for  a 
reply,  even  when  he  had  drowsed  through  a  ques- 
tion. Moreover,  no  one  ever  heard  him  speak  a 
sullen  word,  nor  saw  him  wear  a  brow  of  depres- 
sion. The  single  creed  to  which  he  was  constant 
was  that  of  good  cheer;  he  was  the  very  apostle 
of  gayety,  preaching  it  in  parlor  and  bar;  and 
made  merry  friends  with  battered  tramps  and 
homeless  dogs  in  the  streets  at  night. 

Now  and  then  he  would  spend  several  days  in 
the  offices  of  Gray  &  Vanrevel,  Attorneys  and 
Counsellors-at-Law,  wearing  an  air  of  unassailable 
virtue;  though  he  did  not  far  overstate  the  case 
when  he  said,  "  Tom  does  all  the  work  and  gives 
me  all  the  money  not  to  bother  him  when  he's 
getting  up  a  case." 

The  working  member  of  the  firm  got  up  cases 
to  notable  effect,  and  few  lawyers  in  the  State 
[63] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

enjoyed  having  Tom  Vanrevel  on  the  other  side. 
There  was  nothing  about  him  of  the  floridity  prev- 
alent at  that  time ;  he  withered  "  oratory  "  before 
the  court;  he  was  the  foe  of  jury  pathos;  and, 
despising  noise  and  the  habitual  voice-dip  at  the  end 
of  a  sentence,  was,  nevertheless,  at  times  an  almost 
fearfully  effective  orator.  So,  by  degrees  the 
firm  of  Gray  &  Vanrevel,  young  as  it  was,  and  in 
spite  of  the  idle  apprentice,  had  grown  to  be  the 
most  prosperous  in  the  district.  For  this  emi- 
nence Crailey  was  never  accused  of  assuming  the 
credit.  Nor  did  he  ever  miss  an  opportunity  of 
making  known  how  much  he  owed  to  his  partner. 
What  he  owed,  in  brief,  was  everything.  How 
well  Vanrevel  worked  was  demonstrated  every  day, 
but  how  hard  he  worked,  only  Crailey  knew.  The 
latter  had  grown  to  depend  upon  him  for  even 
his  political  beliefs,  and  lightly  followed  his  part- 
ner into  Abolitionism;  though  that  was  to  risk 
unpopularity,  bitter  hatred,  and  worse.  Fortu- 
nately, on  certain  occasions,  Vanrevel  had  made 
himself  (if  not  his  creed)  respected,  at  least  so  far 
that  there  was  no  longer  danger  of  mob-violence 
[64] 


"  But  Spare  Your  Country's  Flag  " 
for  an  Abolitionist  in  Rouen.  He  was  a  cool-headed 
young  man  ordinarily,  and  possessed  of  an  elusive 
forcefulness  not  to  be  trifled  with,  though  he  was 
a  quiet  man,  and  had  what  they  called  a  "  fine  man- 
ner." And,  not  in  the  latter,  but  in  his  dress,  there 
was  an  echo  of  the  Beau,  which  afforded  Mr.  Gray 
a  point  of  attack  for  sallies  of  wit;  there  was  a 
touch  of  the  dandy  about  Vanrevel ;  he  had  a  large 
and  versatile  wardrobe,  and  his  clothes  always  fit 
him  not  only  in  line  but  in  color;  even  women  saw 
how  nobly  they  were  fashioned. 

These  two  young  men  were  members  of  a  cheer- 
ful band,  who  feasted,  laughed,  wrangled  over  poli- 
tics, danced,  made  love,  and  sang  terrible  chords  on 
summer  evenings,  together,  as  young  men  will. 
Will  Cummings,  editor  of  the  Rouen  Journal,  was 
one  of  these;  a  tall,  sallow  man,  very  thin,  very 
awkward  and  very  gentle.  Mr.  Cummings  proved 
himself  always  ready  with  a  loud  and  friendly 
laugh  for  the  poorest  joke  in  the  world,  his  counte- 
nance shining  with  such  kindness  that  no  one  ever 
had  the  heart  to  reproach  him  with  the  evils  of  his 
journalistic  performances,  or  for  the  things  he 
[65  J 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

broke  when  he  danced.  Another  was  Tappingham 
Marsh,  an  exceedingly  handsome  person,  somewhat 
languid  in  appearance,  dainty  in  manner  with 
women,  offhand  with  men;  almost  as  reckless  as 
Crailey,  and  often  the  latter's  companion  and  as- 
sistant in  dissipation.  Young  Francis  Chenoweth 
never  failed  to  follow  both  into  whatever  they 
planned ;  he  was  short  and  pink,  and  the  uptilt  of 
his  nose  was  coherent  with  the  appealing  earnest- 
ness which  was  habitual  with  him.  Eugene  Ma- 
drillon  was  the  sixth  of  these  intimates;  a  dark 
man,  whose  Latin  eyes  and  color  advertised  his 
French  ancestry  as  plainly  as  his  emotionless  mouth 
and  lack  of  gesture  betrayed  the  mingling  of  an- 
other strain. 

All  these,  and  others  of  the  town,  were  wont  to 
"  talk  politics  "  a  great  deal  at  the  little  club  on 
Main  Street,  and  all  were  apt  to  fall  foul  of  Tom 
Vanrevel  or  Crailey  Gray  before  the  end  of  any  dis- 
cussion. For  those  were  the  days  when  they  twisted 
the  Lion's  tail  in  vehement  and  bitter  earnest ;  when 
the  eagle  screamed  in  mixed  figures ;  when  few  men 
knew  how  to  talk,  and  many  orated;  when  party 
[661 


4  But  Spare  Your  Country's  Flag" 

strife  was  savagely  personal;  when  intolerance 
was  called  the  "  pure  fire  of  patriotism ;"  when  crit- 
icism of  the  existing  order  of  things  surely  incurred 
fiery  anathema  and  black  invective;  and  brave 
was  he,  indeed,  who  dared  to  hint  that  his  country, 
as  a  whole  and  politically,  did  lack  some  two  or  three 
particular  virtues,  and  that  the  first  step  toward  ob- 
taining them  would  be  to  help  it  to  realize  their 
absence. 

This  latter  point-of-view  was  that  of  the  firm 
of  Gray  &  Vanrevel,  which  was  a  unit  in  such 
matters.  Crailey  did  most  of  the  talking — quite 
beautifully,  too — and  both  had  to  stand  against 
odds  in  many  a  sour  argument,  for  they  were  not 
only  Abolitionists,  but  opposed  the  attitude  of  their 
country  in  its  difficulty  with  Mexico;  and,  in  com- 
mon with  other  men  of  the  time  who  took  their 
stand,  they  had  to  grow  accustomed  to  being  called 
Disloyal  Traitors,  Foreign  Toadies,  Malignants, 
and  Traducers  of  the  Flag.  Tom  had  long  been 
used  to  epithets  of  this  sort,  suffering  their  sting 
in  quiet,  and  was  glad  when  he  could  keep  Crailey 
out  of  worse  employment  than  standing  firm  for 
an  unpopular  belief. 

[67] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

There  was  one  place  to  which  Vanrevel,  seeking 
his  friend  and  partner,  when  the  latter  did  not  come 
home  at  night,  could  not  go;  this  was  the  Tower 
Chamber,  and  it  was  in  that  mysterious  apartment 
of  the  Carewe  cupola  that  Crailey  was  apt  to  be 
deeply  occupied  when  he  remained  away  until  day- 
light. Strange  as  it  appears,  Mr.  Gray  main- 
tained peculiar  relations  of  intimacy  with  Robert 
Carewe,  in  spite  of  the  feud  between  Carewe  and  his 
own  best  friend.  This  intimacy,  which  did  not 
necessarily  imply  any  mutual  fondness  (though 
Crailey  seemed  to  dislike  nobody),  was  betokened 
by  a  furtive  understanding,  of  a  sort,  between 
them.  They  held  brief,  earnest  conversations  on 
the  street,  or  in  corners  when  they  met  at  other 
people's  houses,  always  speaking  in  voices  too  low 
to  be  overheard;  and  they  exercised  a  mysterious 
symbolism,  somewhat  in  the  manner  of  fellow- 
members  of  a  secret  society :  they  had  been  observed 
to  communicate  across  crowded  rooms,  by  lifted 
eyebrow,  nod  of  head,  or  a  surreptitious  turn  of 
the  wrist:  so  that  those  who  observed  them  knew 
that  a  question  had  been  asked  and  answered. 
[68] 


"But  Spare  Y<wr  Country's  Flag" 

It  was  noticed,  also,  that  there  were  five  other 
initiates  to  this  masonry:  Eugene  Madrillon,  the 
elder  Chenoweth,  General  Trumble,  Tappingham 
Marsh,  and  Jefferson  Bareaud.  Thus,  on  the 
afternoon  following  Miss  Betty's  introduction  to 
Rouen's  favorite  sons  and  daughters,  Mr.  Carewe, 
'driving  down  Main  Street,  held  up  one  forefinger 
to  Madrillon  as  he  saw  the  young  man  turning  in 
at  the  club.  Eugene  nodded  gravely,  and,  as  he 
went  in,  discovering  Marsh,  the  General,  and 
others,  listening  to  Mr.  Gray's  explanation  of  his 
return  from  the  river  with  no  fish,  stealthily  held 
up  one  finger  in  his  turn.  Trumble  replied  with  a 
wink,  Tappingham  nodded,  but  Crailey  slightly 
shook  his  head.  Marsh  and  the  General  started 
with  surprise,  and  stared  incredulously.  That 
Crailey  should  shake  his  head!  If  the  signal  had 
been  for  a  church-meeting  they  might  have  under- 
stood. 

Mr.  Gray's  conduct  was  surprising  two  other 
people  at  about  the  same  time:  Tom  Vanrevel  and 
Fanchon  Bareaud;  the  former  by  his  sudden  de- 
votion to  the  law ;  the  latter  by  his  sudden  devotion 
[69] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

to  herself.  In  a  breath,  he  became  almost  a  domes- 
tic character.  No  more  did  he  spend  his  after- 
noons between  the  club  and  the  Rouen  House  bar, 
nor  was  his  bay  mare  so  often  seen  stamping  down 
the  ground  about  Mrs.  McDougal's  hitching-post 
while  McDougal  was  out  on  the  prairie  with  his 
engineering  squad.  The  idle  apprentice  was  at  his 
desk,  and  in  the  daytime  he  displayed  an  aversion 
for  the  streets,  which  was  more  than  his  partner 
did,  for  the  industrious  Tom,  undergoing  quite  as 
remarkable  an  alteration  of  habit,  became,  all  at 
once,  little  better  than  a  corner-loafer.  His  fa- 
vorite lounging-place  was  a  small  drug-store  where 
Carewe  Street  debouched  upon  Main ;  nevertheless, 
so  adhesive  is  a  reputation  once  fastened,  his  air 
of  being  there  upon  business  deceived  everyone  ex- 
cept Mr.  Gray. 

Miss  Bareaud  was  even  happier  than  she  was  as- 
tonished (and  she  was  mightily  astonished)  to  find 
her  betrothed  developing  a  taste  for  her  society 
alone.  Formerly,  she  had  counted  upon  the  gay- 
eties  of  her  home  to  keep  Crailey  near  her;  now, 
however,  he  told  her  tenderly  he  wished  to  have  her 
[701 


"  But  Spare  Your  Country's  Flag  " 
all  to  himself.  This  was  not  like  him,  but  Fanchon 
did  not  question ;  and  it  was  very  sweet  to  her  that 
he  began  to  make  it  his  custom  to  come  in  by  a  side 
gate  and  meet  her  under  an  apple-tree  in  the  dusk, 
where  they  would  sit  quietly  together  through  the 
evening,  listening  to  the  noise  and  laughter  from 
the  lighted  house. 

That  house  was  the  most  hospitable  in  Rouen. 
Always  cheerfully  "  full  of  company,"  as  they  said, 
it  was  the  sort  of  house  where  a  carpet-dance  could 
be  arranged  in  half  an  hour;  a  house  with  a  side- 
board like  the  widow's  cruse ;  the  young  men  always 
found  more.  Mrs.  Bareaud,  a  Southerner,  loving 
to  persuade  the  visitor  that  her  home  was  his,  not 
hers,  lived  only  for  her  art,  which  was  that  of  the 
table.  Evil  cooks,  taking  service  with  her,  became 
virtuous,  dealt  with  nectar  and  ambrosia,  and  grew 
fit  to  pander  to  Olympus,  learning  of  their  mistress 
secrets  to  make  the  ill-disposed  as  genial  gods  ere 
they  departed.  Mr.  Bareaud  at  fifty  had  lived 
so  well  that  he  gave  up  walking,  which  did  not 
trouble  him;  but  at  sixty  he  gave  up  dancing, 
which  did  trouble  him.  His  only  hope,  he  declared, 
171] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

was  in  Crailey  Gray's  promise  to  invent  for  him  a 
concave  partner. 

There  was  a  thin,  quizzing  shank  of  a  son,  Jef- 
ferson, who  lived  upon  quinine,  ague  and  deviltry ; 
and  there  were  the  two  daughters,  Fanchon  and 
Virginia.  The  latter  was  three  years  older  than 
Fanchon,  as  dark  as  Fanchon  was  fair,  though  not 
nearly  so  pretty:  a  small,  good-natured,  romping 
sprite  of  a  girl,  who  had  handed  down  the  heart 
and  hand  of  Crailey  Gray  to  her  sister  with  the 
best  grace  in  the  world.  For  she  had  been  the 
heroine  of  one  of  Mr.  Gray's  half-dozen  or  so  most 
serious  affairs,  and,  after  a  furious  rivalry  with 
Mr.  Carewe,  the  victory  was  generally  conceded  to 
Crailey.  His  triumph  had  been  of  about  a  fort- 
night's duration  when  Fanchon  returned  from  St. 
Mary's ;  and,  with  the  advent  of  the  younger  sister, 
the  elder,  who  had  decided  that  Crailey  was  the 
incomparable  she  had  dreamed  of  since  infancy, 
was  generously  allowed  to  discover  that  he  was  not 
that  vision — that  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  her 
own  idea  of  him ;  whereas  Fanchon  cared  only  that 
he  be  Crailey  Gray,  whatever  kind  of  vision  that 
[72] 


"But  Spare  Your  Country's  Flag" 

was.  And  Fanchon  discovered  that  it  was  a  great 
many  kinds. 

The  transfer  was  made  comfortably,  with  nice 
judgment  of  a  respectable  interregnum,  and  to  the 
greater  happiness  of  each  of  the  three  young  peo- 
ple; no  objection  ensuing  from  the  easy-going 
parents,  who  were  devotedly  fond  of  Crailey,  while 
the  town  laughed  and  said  it  was  only  that  absurd 
Crailey  Gray  again.  He  and  Virginia  were  the 
best  of  friends,  and  accepted  their  new  relation 
with  a  preposterous  lack  of  embarrassment. 

To  be  in  love  with  Crailey  became  Fanchon's  vo- 
cation; she  spent  all  her  time  at  it,  and  produced 
a  blurred  effect  upon  strangers.  The  only  man 
with  whom  she  seemed  quite  alive  was  Vanrevel:  a 
little  because  Tom  talked  of  Crailey,  and  a  great 
deal  because  she  could  talk  of  Crailey  to  Tom; 
could  tell  him  freely,  as  she  could  tell  no  one  else, 
how  wonderful  Crailey  was,  and  explain  to  him  her 
lover's  vagaries  on  the  ground  that  it  was  a  neces- 
sity of  geniuses  to  be  unlike  the  less  gifted.  Nor 
was  she  alone  in  suspecting  Mr.  Gray  of  genius: 
in  the  first  place,  he  was  so  odd ;  in  the  second,  his 
[731 


The  Two  Vanreveh 

poems  were  "  already  attracting  more  than  local 
attention,"  as  the  Journal  remarked,  generously, 
for  Crailey  had  ceased  to  present  his  rhymes  to 
that  valuable  paper.  Ay !  Boston,  no  less,  was 
his  mart. 

He  was  rather  radical  in  his  literary  preferences, 
and  hurt  the  elder  Chenoweth's  feelings  by  laugh- 
ing heartily  at  some  poems  of  the  late  Lord  Byron ; 
offended  many  people  by  disliking  the  style  of  Sir 
Edward  Bulwer,  and  even  refused  to  admit  that 
James  Fenimore  Cooper  was  the  greatest  novelist 
that  ever  lived.  But  these  things  were  as  noth- 
ing compared  with  his  unpatriotic  defence  of 
Charles  Dickens.  Many  Americans  had  fallen  into 
a  great  rage  over  the  vivacious  assault  upon  the 
United  States  in  "Martin  Chuzzlewit;"  neverthe- 
less, Crailey  still  boldly  hailed  him  (as  everyone 
had  heretofore  agreed)  the  most  dexterous  writer  of 
his  day  and  the  most  notable  humorist  of  any  day. 
Of  course  the  Englishman  had  not  visited  and 
thoroughly  studied  such  a  city  as  Rouen,  Crailey 
confessed,  twinklingly;  but,  after  all,  wasn't  there 
some  truth  in  "  Martin  Chuzzlewit?  "  Mr.  Dick- 
[74] 


'*  But  Spare  Your  Country's  Flag  " 
ens  might  have  been  far  from  a  clear  understand- 
ing of  our  people;  but  didn't  it  argue  a  pretty 
ticklish  vanity  in  ourselves  that  we  were  so  fiercely 
resentful  of  satire ;  and  was  not  this  very  heat  over 
"  Martin  Chuzzlewit  "  a  confirmation  of  one  of  the 
points  the  book  had  presented  against  us?  Gen- 
eral Trumble  replied  to  this  suggestion  with  a  per- 
sonal one  to  the  effect  that  a  man  capable  of  saying 
a  good  word  for  so  monstrous  a  slander,  that  a  man, 
sir,  capable  of  declaring  his  native  country  to  be 
vain  or  sensitive  ought  to  be  horsewhipped,  and  at 
this  Crailey  laughed  consumedly. 

Trumble  retorted  with  the  names  of  Benedict 
Arnold  and  Aaron  Burr.  "  And  if  it  comes  to  a 
war  with  these  Greasers,"  he  spluttered  apoplecti- 
cally,  "  and  it  is  coming,  mighty  soon,  we'll  find 
Mr.  Gray  down  in  Mexico,  throwing  mud  on 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  and  cheering  for  that  one- 
legged  horse-thief,  Santa  Anna!  Anything  to 
seek  out  something  foolish  amongst  your  own 
people ! " 

"  Don't  have  to  seek  far,  sometimes,  General," 
murmured  Crailey,  from  the  depths  of  the  best 
175} 


The  Two  Vawevels 

chair  in  the  club,  whereupon  Trumble,  not  trust- 
ing himself  to  answer,  went  out  to  the  street. 

And  yet,  before  that  same  evening  was  over,  the 
General  had  shed  honest  tears  of  admiration  and 
pity  for  Crailey  Gray ;  and  Miss  Betty  saw  her  In- 
croyable  again,  for  that  night  (the  second  after  the 
Carewe  dance)  Rouen  beheld  the  great  warehouse 
fire. 


176) 


CHAPTER  V 
Nero  not  the  Last  Violinist  of  his  Kind 

MISS  CAREWE  was  at  her  desk,  writing 
to  Sister  Cecilia,  whom  she  most  loved  of 
all  the  world,  when  the  bells  startled  her 
with  their  sudden   clangor.     The  quill   dropped 
from  her  hand;  she  started  to  her  feet,  wide-eyed, 
not  understanding;  while  the  whole  town,  drows- 
ing peacefully  a  moment  ago,  resounded  immedi- 
ately with  a  loud  confusion.     She  ran  to  the  front 
door  and  looked  out,  her  heart  beating  wildly. 

The  western  sky  was  touched  with  a  soft  rose- 
color,  which  quickly  became  a  warm  glow,  fluct- 
uated, and,  in  the  instant,  shot  up  like  the  coming 
of  a  full  Aurora.  Then  through  the  broken  foliage 
of  the  tree-tops  could  be  seen  the  orange  curls  of 
flames,  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away  though  they 
were. 

People,  calling  loudly  that  "it  was   Carewe'a 
LT7J 


The  Two  Vanreveh 

warehouses,"  were  running  down  the  street.  From 
the  stable,  old  Nelson,  on  her  father's  best  horse, 
came  galloping,  and  seeing  the  white  figure  in  the 
doorway,  cried  out  in  a  quavering  voice,  without 
checking  his  steed : 

"  I  goin'  tell  yo'  pa,  Miss  Betty ;  he  in  de  kentry 
on  Ian'  bus'ness.  Go  back  in  de  house,  Missy !  " 

The  other  servants,  like  ragged  sketches  in  the 
night,  flitted  by,  with  excited  ejaculations,  to  join 
the  runners,  and  Miss  Betty  followed  them  across 
the  dew-strewn  turf  in  her  light  slippers,  but  at 
the  gate  she  stopped. 

From  up  the  street  came  the  sound  of  a  bell 
smaller  than  those  of  the  churches  and  court-house, 
yet  one  that  outdid  all  others  in  the  madness  of  its 
appeal  to  clear  the  way.  It  was  borne  along  by  what 
seemed  at  first  an  indefinite  black  mass,  but  which — 
as  the  Aurora  grew  keener,  producing  even  here  a 
faint,  yellow  twilight — resolved  itself  into  a  mob  of 
hoarsely-shouting  men  and  boys,  who  were  running 
and  tugging  at  ropes,  which  drew  along  three  ex- 
traordinary vehicles.  They  came  rapidly  down  the 
street  and  passed  Miss  Betty  with  a  hubbub  and 
[78] 


Nero  not  the  Last  Violinist  of  his  Kind 
din  beyond  all  understanding;  one  line  of  men, 
most  of  them  in  red  shirts  and  oil-cloth  helmets,  at 
a  dead  run  with  the  hose-cart ;  a  second  line  with  the 
hand-engine ;  the  third  dragging  the  ladder-wagon. 
One  man  was  riding,  a  tall,  straight  gentleman  in 
evening  clothes  and  without  a  hat,  who  stood  pre- 
cariously in  the  hose-cart,  calling  in  an  annoyed 
tone  through  a  brazen  trumpet.  Miss  Betty  recog- 
nized him  at  once ;  it  was  he  who  caught  her  kitten ; 
and  she  thought  that  if  she  had  been  Fanchon 
Bareaud  she  must  have  screamed  a  warning,  for  his 
balance  appeared  a  thing  of  mere  luck,  and,  if  he 
fell,  he  would  be  trampled  under  foot  and  probably 
run  over  by  the  engine.  But,  happily  (she  re- 
membered), she  was  not  Fanchon  Bareaud! 

Before,  behind,  and  beside  the  Department,  raced 
a  throng  of  boys,  wild  with  the  joy  experienced  by 
their  species  when  property  is  being  handsomely 
destroyed;  after  them  came  panting  women,  hold- 
ing their  sides  and  gasping  with  the  effort  to  keep 
up  with  the  flying  procession. 

Miss  Betty  trembled,  for  she  had  never  seen  the 
like  in  her  life;  she  stood  close  to  the  hedge  and 
[79] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

let  them  go  by ;  then  she  turned  in  after  them  and 
ran  like  a  fleet  young  deer.  She  was  going  to  the 
fire. 

Over  all  the  uproar  could  be  heard  the  angry 
voice  through  the  trumpet,  calling  the  turns  of  the 
streets  to  the  men  in  the  van,  upbraiding  them  and 
those  of  the  other  two  companies  impartially;  and 
few  of  his  hearers  denied  the  chief  his  right  to  ex- 
press some  chagrin;  since  the  Department  (organ- 
ized a  half-year,  hard-drilled,  and  this  its  first  fire 
worth  the  name)  was  late  on  account  of  the  refusal 
of  the  members  to  move  until  they  had  donned  their 
new  uniforms;  for  the  uniforms  had  arrived  from 
Philadelphia  two  months  ago,  and  to-night  offered 
the  first  opportunity  to  display  them  in  public. 

"Hail  Vanrevel!"  panted  Tappingham  Marsh 
to  Eugene  Madrillon,  as  the  two,  running  in  the 
van  of  the  "  Hose  Company,"  splattered  through  a 
mud-puddle.  "  You'd  think  he  was  Carewe's  only 
son  and  heir  instead  of  his  worst  enemy.  Hark 
to  the  man !  " 

"  I'd  let  it  burn,  if  I  were  he,"  returned  the 
other. 

[80] 


Nero  not  the  Last  Violinist  of  his  Kmd 

"  It  was  all  Crailey's  fault,"  said  Tappingham, 
swinging  an  arm  free  to  wipe  the  spattered  mud 
from  his  face.  "  He  swore  he  wouldn't  budge 
without  his  uniform,  and  the  rest  only  backed  him 
up ;  that  was  all.  Crailey  said  Carewe  could  bet- 
ter afford  to  lose  his  shanties  than  the  overworked 
Department  its  first  chance  to  look  beautiful  and 
earnest.  Tom  asked  him  why  he  didn't  send  for  a 
fiddle,"  Marsh  finished  with  a  chuckle. 

"  Carewe  might  afford  to  lose  a  little,  even  a 
warehouse  or  two,  if  only  out  of  what  he's 
taken  from  Crailey  and  the  rest  of  us,  these  three 
years ! " 

"  Taken  from  Vanrevel,  you  mean.  Who  doesn't 
know  where  Crailey's —  Here's  Main  Street ;  look 
out  for  the  turn !  " 

They  swung  out  of  the  thick  shadows  of  Carewe 
Street  into  full  view  of  the  fire,  and  their  faces 
were  illuminated  as  by  sunrise. 

The  warehouses  stood  on  the  river-bank,  at  the 
foot  of  the  street,  just  south  of  the  new  "  covered 
bridge."  There  were  four  of  them,  huge,  bare- 
sided  buildings ;  the  two  nearer  the  bridge  of  brick, 
[8JJ 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

the  others  of  wood,  and  all  of  them  rich  with  stores 
of  every  kind  of  river-merchandise  and  costly 
freight:  furniture  that  had  voyaged  from  New 
England  down  the  long  coast,  across  the  Mexican 
Gulf,  through  the  flat  Delta,  and  had  made  the 
winding  journey  up  the  great  river  a  thousand 
miles,  and  almost  a  thousand  more,  following  the 
greater  and  lesser  tributaries ;  cloth  from  Connecti- 
cut that  had  been  sold  in  Philadelphia,  then  carried 
over  mountains  and  through  forests  by  steam,  by 
canal,  by  stage,  and  six-mule  freight- wagons,  to 
Pittsburg,  down  the  Ohio,  and  thence  up  to  Rouen 
on  the  packet;  Tennessee  cotton,  on  its  way  to 
Massachusetts  and  Rhode  Island  spindles,  lay  there 
beside  huge  mounds  of  raw  wool  from  Illinois,  ready 
to  be  fed  to  the  Rouen  mill;  dates  and  nuts  from 
the  Caribbean  Sea ;  lemons  from  groves  of  the  far- 
away tropics;  cigars  from  the  Antilles;  tobacco 
from  Virginia  and  Kentucky ;  most  precious  of  all, 
the  great  granary  of  the  farmers'  wheat  from  the 
level  fields  at  home ;  and  all  the  rich  stores  and  the 
houses  that  held  them,  as  well  as  the  wharves  upon 
which  they  had  been  landed,  and  the  steamers  that 
[82] 


Nero  not  the  Last  Violinist  of  7m  K'md 
brought  them  up  the  Rouen  River,  belonged  to 
Robert  Carewe. 

That  it  was  her  father's  property  which  was 
imperilled  attested  to  the  justification  of  Miss  Betty 
in  running  to  a  fire ;  and,  as  she  followed  the  crowd 
into  Main  Street,  she  felt  a  not  unpleasant  proprie- 
tary interest  in  the  spectacle.  Very  opposite  sen- 
sations animated  the  breast  of  the  man  with  the 
trumpet,  who  was  more  acutely  conscious  than  any 
other  that  these  were  Robert  Carewe's  possessions 
which  were  burning  so  handsomely.  Nor  was  he 
the  only  one  among  the  firemen  who  ground  his 
teeth  over  the  folly  of  the  uniforms ;  for  now  they 
could  plainly  see  the  ruin  being  wrought,  the  dev- 
astation threatened.  The  two  upper  stories  of  the 
southernmost  warehouse  had  swathed  themselves  in 
one  great  flame;  the  building  next  on  the  north, 
also  of  frame,  was  smoking  heavily ;  and  there  was 
a  wind  from  the  southwest,  which,  continuing  with 
the  fire  unchecked,  threatened  the  town  itself. 
There  was  work  for  the  Volunteer  Brigade  that 
night. 

They  came  down  Main  Street  with  a  rush,  the 
[83] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

figure  of  their  chief  swaying  over  them  on  his  high 
perch,  while  their  shouting  was  drowned  in  the 
louder  roar  of  greeting  from  the  crowd,  into  which 
they  plunged  as  a  diver  into  the  water,  swirls  and 
eddies  of  people  marking  the  wake.  A  moment 
later  a  section  of  the  roof  of  the  burning  ware- 
house fell  in,  with  a  sonorous  and  reverberating 
crash. 

The  "  Engine  Company  "  ran  the  force-pump 
out  to  the  end  of  one  of  the  lower  wharves ;  two  lines 
of  pipe  were  attached;  two  rows  of  men  mounted 
the  planks  for  the  pumpers,  and,  at  the  word  of 
command,  began  the  up-and-down  of  the  hand- 
machine  with  admirable  vim.  Nothing  happened; 
the  water  did  not  come;  something  appeared  to 
be  wrong  with  the  mechanism.  As  everyone  felt 
the  crucial  need  of  haste,  nothing  could  have  been 
more  natural  than  that  all  the  members  of  the  "  En- 
gine Company  "  should  simultaneously  endeavor  to 
repair  the  defect;  therefore  ensued  upon  the  spot 
a  species  of  riot  which  put  the  engine  out  of  its 
sphere  of  usefulness. 

In  the  meantime,  fifty  or  sixty  men  and  boys 
[84] 


Nero  not  the  Last  Violinist  of  his  Kind 
who  ran  with  the  machines,  but  who  had  no  place 
in  their  operation,  being  the  Bucket  Brigade,  had 
formed  a  line  and  were  throwing  large  pails  of 
water  in  the  general  direction  of  the  southernmost 
warehouse,  which  it  was  now  impossible  to  save; 
while  the  gentlemen  of  the  "  Hook-and-Ladder 
Company,"  abandoning  their  wagons,  and  armed 
with  axes,  heroically  assaulted  the  big  door  of 
the  granary,  the  second  building,  whence  they 
were  driven  by  the  exasperated  chief,  who  in- 
formed them  that  the  only  way  to  save  the  wheat 
was  to  save  the  building.  Crailey  Gray,  one  of 
the  berated  axemen,  remained  by  the  shattered  door 
after  the  others  had  gone,  and,  struck  by  a  sudden 
thought,  set  his  hand  upon  the  iron  latch  and 
opened  the  door  by  this  simple  process.  It  was 
not  locked.  Crailey  leaned  against  the  casement 
and  laughed  with  his  whole  soul  and  body. 

Meanwhile,  by  dint  of  shouting  in  men's  ears 
when  near  them,  through  the  trumpet  when  distant, 
tearing  axes  from  their  hands,  imperiously  gesticu- 
lating to  subordinate  commanders,  and  lingering 
in  no  one  spot  for  more  than  a  second,  Mr.  Van- 
[85] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

revel  reduced  his  forces  to  a  semblance  of  order  in 
a  remarkably  short  time,  considering  the  confusion 
into  which  they  had  fallen. 

The  space  between  the  burning  warehouse  and 
that  next  it  was  not  more  than  fifty  feet  in  width, 
but  fifty  feet  so  hot  no  one  took  thought  of  entering 
there ;  an  area  as  discomfiting  in  appearance  as  it 
was  beautiful  with  the  thick  rain  of  sparks  and 
firebrands  that  fell  upon  it.  But  the  chief  had 
decided  that  this  space  must  be  occupied,  and  more : 
must  be  held,  since  it  was  the  only  point  of  defence 
for  the  second  warehouse.  The  roof  of  this  build- 
ing would  burn,  which  would  mean  the  destruction 
of  the  warehouse,  unless  it  could  be  mounted,  be- 
cause the  streams  of  water  could  not  play  upon  it 
from  the  ground,  nor,  from  the  ladders,  do  much 
more  than  wet  the  projecting  eaves.  It  was  a 
gable  roof,  the  eaves  twenty  feet  lower  on  the  south 
side  than  on  the  north,  where  the  ladders  could  not 
hope  to  reach  them.  Vanrevel  swung  his  line  of 
bucketeers  round  to  throw  water,  not  upon  the 
flames,  but  upon  the  ladder-men. 

Miss  Carewe  stood  in  the  crowd  upon  the  op- 
[86] 


Nero  not  the  Last  Violinist  of  his  Kmd 
posite  side  of  the  broad  street.  Even  there  her 
cheeks  were  uncomfortably  hot,  and  sometimes  she 
had  to  brush  a  spark  from  her  shoulder,  though 
she  was  too  much  excited  to  mind  this.  She  was 
watching  the  beautiful  fiery  furnace  between  the 
north  wall  of  the  burning  warehouse  and  the  south 
wall  of  its  neighbor,  the  fifty  feet  brilliant  and 
misty  with  vaporous  rose-color,  dotted  with  the 
myriad  red  stars,  her  eyes  shining  with  the  reflec- 
tion of  their  fierce  beauty.  She  saw  how  the 
vapors  moved  there,  like  men  walking  in  fire,  and 
she  was  vaguely  recalling  Shadrach,  Meshach, 
and  Abed-nego,  when,  over  the  silhouetted  heads 
of  the  crowd  before  her,  a  long  black  ladder  rose, 
wobbled,  tilted  crazily,  then  lamely  advanced 
and  ranged  itself  against  the  south  wall  of  the 
second  warehouse,  its  top  rung  striking  ten  feet 
short  of  the  eaves.  She  hoped  that  no  one  had  any 
notion  of  mounting  that  ladder. 

A  figure  appeared  upon  it  immediately,  that  of 

a  gentleman,  bareheaded  and  in  evening  dress,  with 

a  brass  trumpet  swinging  from  a  cord  about  his 

shoulders;  the  noise  grew  less;  the  shouting  died 

[87] 


The  Two  Vanrevel* 

away,  and  the  crowd  became  almost  silent,  as  the 
figure,  climbing  slowly,  drew  up  above  their  heads. 
Two  or  three  rungs  beneath,  came  a  second — a 
man  in  helmet  and  uniform.  The  clothes  of  both 
men,  drenched  by  the  bucketeers,  clung  to  them, 
steaming.  As  the  second  figure  mounted,  a  third 
appeared ;  but  this  was  the  last,  for  the  ladder  was 
frail,  and  sagged  toward  the  smoking  wall  with 
the  weight  of  the  three. 

The  chief,  three-fourths  of  the  way  to  the  top, 
shouted  down  a  stifled  command,  and  a  short 
grappling-ladder,  fitted  at  one  end  with  a  pair  of 
spiked  iron  hooks,  was  passed  to  him.  Then  he 
toiled  upward  until  his  feet  rested  on  the  third 
rung  from  the  top ;  here  he  turned,  setting  his  back 
to  the  wall,  lifted  the  grappling-ladder  high  over 
his  head  so  that  it  rested  against  the  eaves  above 
him,  and  brought  it  down  sharply,  fastening  the 
spiked  hooks  in  the  roof.  As  the  eaves  projected 
fully  three  feet,  this  left  the  grappling-ladder 
hanging  that  distance  out  from  the  wall,  its  lowest 
rung  a  little  above  the  level  of  the  chief's  shoulders. 

Miss  Betty  drew  in  her  breath  with  a  little  choked 
[88] 


Nero  not  the  Last  Violinist  of  his  Kind 
cry.  There  was  a  small  terraced  hill  of  piled-up 
packing-boxes  near  her,  possession  of  which  had 
been  taken  by  a  company  of  raggamuffinish  boys, 
and  she  found  herself  standing  on  the  highest  box 
and  sharing  the  summit  with  these  questionable 
youths,  almost  without  noting  her  action  in  mount- 
ing thither,  so  strained  was  the  concentration  of 
her  attention  upon  the  figure  high  up  in  the  rose- 
glow  against  the  warehouse  wall.  The  man,  surely, 
surely,  was  not  going  to  trust  himself  to  that  bit 
of  wooden  web  hanging  from  the  roof !  Where  was 
Miss  Bareaud  that  she  permitted  it?  Ah,  if  Betty 
had  been  Fanchon,  and  madwoman  enough  to  have 
accepted  this  madman,  she  would  have  compelled 
him  to  come  down  at  once,  and  thereafter  would 
lock  him  up  in  the  house  whenever  the  bells  rang! 
But  the  roof  was  to  be  mounted  or  Robert  Ca- 
rewe's  property  lost.  Already  little  flames  were 
dancing  up  from  the  shingles,  where  firebrands  had 
fallen,  their  number  increasing  with  each  second. 
So  Vanrevel  raised  his  arms,  took  a  hard  grip  upon 
the  lowest  rung  of  the  grappling-ladder  and  tried 
it  with  his  weight;  the  iron  hooks  bit  deeper  into 
[89] 


The  Two  Vanrevds 

the  roof;  they  held.  He  swung  himself  out  into 
the  air  with  nothing  beneath  him,  caught  the  rung 
under  his  knee,  and  for  a  moment  hung  there, 
while  the  crowd  withheld  from  breathing ;  then  a 
cloud  of  smoke,  swirling  that  way,  made  him  the 
mere  ghostly  nucleus  of  itself,  blotted  him  out  al- 
together, and,  as  it  rose  slowly  upward,  showed 
the  ladder  free  and  empty,  so  that  at  first  there 
was  an  instant  when  they  thought  that  he  had 
fallen.  But,  as  the  smoke  cleared,  there  was  the 
tall  figure  on  the  roof. 

It  was  an  agile  and  a  daring  thing  to  do,  and  the 
man  who  did  it  was  mightily  applauded.  The 
cheering  bothered  him,  however,  for  he  was  trying 
to  make  them  understand,  below,  what  would  hap- 
pen to  the  "  Engine  Company  "  in  case  the  water 
was  not  sent  through  the  lines  directly ;  and  what 
he  said  should  be  done  to  the  engineers  included 
things  that  would  have  blanched  the  cheek  of  the 
most  inventive  Spanish  Inquisitor  that  ever  lived. 

Miss  Betty  made  a  gesture  as  if  to  a  person 
within   whispering   distance.      "  Your  coat  is   on 
fire,"  she  said  in  an  ordinary  conversational  tone, 
[901 


Nero  not  the  Last  Violinist  of  his  Kind 
without  knowing  she  had  spoken  aloud,  and  Mr. 
Vanrevel,  more  than  one  hundred  feet  away,  seemed 
particularly  conscious  of  the  pertinence  of  her 
remark.  He  removed  the  garment  with  alacrity, 
and,  for  the  lack  of  the  tardy  water,  began  to 
use  it  as  a  flail  upon  the  firebrands  and  little  flames 
about  him ;  the  sheer  desperate  best  of  a  man  in  a 
rage,  doing  what  he  could  when  others  failed  him. 
Showers  of  sparks  fell  upon  him;  the  smoke  was 
rising  everywhere  from  the  roof  and  the  walls  be- 
low ;  and,  growing  denser  and  denser,  shrouded  him 
in  heavy  veils,  so  that,  as  he  ran  hither  and  thither, 
now  visible,  now  unseen,  stamping  and  beating  and 
sweeping  away  the  brands  that  fell,  he  seemed  but 
the  red  and  ghostly  caricature  of  a  Xerxes,  inef- 
fectually lashing  the  sea.  They  were  calling  to 
him  imploringly  to  come  down,  in  heaven's  name 
to  come  down! 

The  second  man  had  followed  to  the  top  of  the 
ladder  against  the  wall,  and  there  he  paused,  wait- 
ing to  pass  up  the  line  of  hose  when  the  word  should 
come  that  the  force-pump  had  been  repaired;  but 
the  people  thought  that  he  waited  because  he  was 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

afraid  to  trust  himself  to  the  grappling-ladder. 
He  was  afraid,  exceedingly  afraid ;  though  that 
was  not  why  he  waited;  and  he  was  still  chuckling 
over  the  assault  of  the  axes. 

His  situation  had  not  much  the  advantage  of 
that  of  the  chief:  his  red  shirt  might  have  been 
set  with  orange  jewels,  so  studded  it  was  with  the 
flying  sparks;  and,  a  large  brand  dropping  upon 
his  helmet,  he  threw  up  his  hand  to  dislodge  it  and 
lost  the  helmet.  The  great  light  fell  upon  his  fair 
hair  and  smiling  face,  and  it  was  then  that  Miss 
Betty  recognized  the  Incroyable  of  her  garden. 


[92] 


CHAPTER  VI 
The  Ever  Unpractical  Feminine 

IT  was  an  investigating  negro  child  of  tender 
years,  who,  possessed  of  a  petty  sense  of  cause 
and  effect,  brought  an  illuminative  simplicity 
to  bear  upon  the  problem  of  the  force-pump ;  and  a 
multitudinous  agitation  greeted  his  discovery  that 
the  engineers  had  forgotten  to  connect  their  pipes 
with  the  river. 

This  na'ive  omission  was  fatal  to  the  second  ware- 
house ;  the  wall  burst  into  flame  below  Crailey  Gray, 
who  clung  to  the  top  of  the  ladder,  choking,  sti- 
fled, and  dizzily  fighting  the  sparks  that  covered 
him,  yet  still  clutching  the  nozzle  of  the  hose-line 
they  had  passed  to  him.  When  the  stream  at  last 
leaped  forth,  making  the  nozzle  fight  in  his  grasp, 
he  sent  it  straight  up  into  the  air  and  let  the  cat- 
aract fall  back  upon  himself  and  upon  the  two 
men  beneath  him  on  the  ladder. 
[931 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

There  came  a  moment  of  blessed  relief;  and  he 
looked  out  over  the  broad  rosy  blur  of  faces  in 
the  street,  where  no  one  wondered  more  than  he 
how  the  water  was  to  reach  the  roof.  Suddenly  he 
started,  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  wet  sleeve,  and 
peered  intently  down  from  under  the  shading  arm. 
His  roving  lance  crossed  the  smoke  and  flame  to 
rest  upon  a  tall,  white  figure  that  stood,  full-length 
above  the  heads  of  the  people,  upon  a  pedestal 
wrought  with  the  grotesque  images  of  boys :  a  girl's 
figure,  still  as  noon,  enrapt,  like  the  statue  of  some 
young  goddess  for  whom  were  made  these  sacrificial 
pyres.  Mr.  Gray  recognized  his  opportunity. 

A  blackened  and  unrecognizable  face  peered 
down  from  the  eaves,  and  the  voice  belonging  to  it 
said,  angrily: 

"  Why  didn't  they  send  up  that  line  before  they 
put  the  water  through  it?  " 

"  Never  mind,  Tom,"  answered  Crailey  cheer- 
fully, "  I'll  bring  it  up." 

"  You  can't ;  I'll  come  down  for  it.  Don't  be 
every  kind  of  a  fool  1 " 

**  You  want  a  monopoly,  do  you?  "  And  Crailey, 
[94] 


The  Ever  Unpractical  Feminine 
calling  to  Tappingham  Marsh,  next  below  him,  to 
come  higher,  left  the  writhing  nozzle  in  the  latter's 
possession,  swung  himself  out  upon  the  grappling- 
ladder,  imitating  the  chief's  gymnastics,  and  im- 
mediately, one  hand  grasping  the  second  rung,  one 
knee  crooked  over  the  lowest,  leaned  head  down  and 
took  the  nozzle  from  Marsh.  It  was  a  heavy 
weight,  and  though  Marsh  supported  the  line  be- 
neath it,  the  great  stream  hurtling  forth  made  it 
a  difficult  thing  to  manage,  for  it  wriggled,  re- 
coiled and  struggled  as  if  it  had  been  alive.  Crailey 
made  three  attempts  to  draw  himself  up;  but  the 
strain  was  too  much  for  his  grip,  and  on  the  third 
attempt  his  fingers  melted  from  the  rung,  and  he 
swung  down  fearfully,  hanging  by  his  knee,  but 
still  clinging  to  the  nozzle. 

"  Give  it  up,  Crailey ;  it  isn't  worth  it,"  Vanrevel 
called  from  overhead,  not  daring  the  weight  of  both 
on  the  light  grappling-ladder. 

But  though  Crailey  cared  no  more  for  the  sav- 
ing of  Robert  Carewe's  property  than  for  a  butter- 
fly's wing  in  China,  he  could  not  give  up  now,  any 
more  than  as  a  lad  he  could  have  forborne  to  turn 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

somersaults  when  the  prettiest  little  girl  looked  out 
of  the  school-house  window.  He  passed  the  nozzle 
to  Tappingham,  caught  the  second  rung  with  his 
left  hand,  and,  once  more  hanging  head  down- 
ward, seized  the  nozzle ;  then,  with  his  knee  hooked 
tight,  as  the  gushing  water  described  a  huge  semi- 
circle upon  the  smoke  and  hot  vapor,  he  made  a 
mad  lurch  through  the  air,  while  women  shrieked; 
but  he  landed  upright,  half -sitting  on  the  lowest 
rung.  He  climbed  the  grappling-ladder  swiftly, 
in  spite  of  the  weight  and  contortions  of  the  un- 
manageable beast  he  carried  with  him ;  Tom  leaned 
far  down  and  took  it  from  him ;  and  Crailey,  pass- 
ing the  eaves,  fell,  exhausted,  upon  the  roof.  Just 
as  he  reached  this  temporary  security,  a  lady  was 
borne,  fainting,  out  of  the  acclaiming  crowd. 
Fanchon  was  there. 

Word  had  been  passed  to  the  gentlemen  of  the 
"  Engine  Company  "  to  shut  off  the  water  in  order 
to  allow  the  line  to  be  carried  up  the  ladder,  and 
they  received  the  command  at  the  moment  Tom 
lifted  the  nozzle,  so  that  the  stream  dried  up  in  his 
hands.  This  was  the  last  straw,  and  the  blackened, 


The  Ever  Unpractical  Feminine 
singed  and  scarred  chief,  setting  the  trumpet  to 
his  lips,  gave  himself  entirely  to  wrath. 

It  struck  Crailey,  even  as  he  lay,  coughing  and 
weeping  with  smoke,  that  there  was  something 
splendid  and  large  in  the  other's  rage.  Vanrevel 
was  ordinarily  so  steady  and  cool  that  this  was 
worth  seeing,  this  berserker  gesture ;  worth  hearing, 
this  wonderful  profanity,  like  Washington's  one 
fit  of  cursing;  and  Crailey,  knowing  Tom,  knew, 
too,  that  it  had  not  come  upon  him  because  Carewe 
had  a  daughter  into  whose  eyes  Tom  had  looked; 
nor  did  he  rage  because  he  believed  that  Crailey's 
life  and  his  were  in  the  greater  hazard  for  the  lack 
of  every  drop  of  water  that  should  have  issued 
from  the  empty  nozzle.  Their  lungs  were  burdened 
with  smoke,  while  the  intolerable  smarting  of 
throat,  eyes,  and  nostrils  was  like  the  incision  of  a 
thousand  needles  in  the  membranes;  their  clothes 
were  luminous  with  glowing  circles  where  the 
sparks  were  eating;  the  blaze  widened  on  the  wall 
beneath  them,  and  Marsh  was  shouting  hoarsely 
that  he  could  no  longer  hold  his  position  on  the 
ladder;  yet  Crailey  knew  that  none  of  this  was  in 
'97] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

Tom's  mind  as  he  stood,  scorched,  blistered,  and 
haggard,  on  the  edge  of  the  roof,  shaking  his  fist 
at  the  world.  It  was  because  his  chance  of  saving 
the  property  of  a  man  he  despised  was  being  en- 
dangered. 

Crailey  stretched  forth  a  hand  and  touched 
his  friend's  knee.  "  Your  side  of  the  conversa- 
tion is  a  trifle  loud,  Tom,"  he  said.  "  Miss  Ca- 
rewe  is  down  there,  across  the  street,  on  a  pile  of 
boxes." 

Tom  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  word,  for  which 
he  may  have  received  but  half  a  black  stroke  from 
the  recording  angel.  He  wheeled  toward  the  street, 
and,  shielding  his  inflamed  eyes  with  his  hand, 
gazed  downward  in  a  stricken  silence.  From  that 
moment  Mr.  Vanrevel's  instructions  to  his  follow- 
ers were  of  a  decorum  at  which  not  the  meekest 
Sunday-school  scholar  dare  have  cavilled. 

The  three  men  now  on  the  long  ladder,  Marsh, 
Eugene  Madrillon,  and  Will  Cummings,  found 
their  position  untenable;  for  the  flames,  reaching 
all  along  the  wall,  were  licking  at  the  ladder  itself, 
between  Marsh  and  Eugene.  "  I  can't  stand  this 


The  Ever  Unpractical  Femmine 
any  longer,"  gasped  Tappingham,  "  but  I  can't 
leave  those  two  up  there,  either." 

"  Not  alone,"  shouted  Cummings  from  beneath 
Madrillon.  "  Let's  go  up." 

Thus  it  happened,  that  when  the  water  came 
again,  and  Vanrevel  let  it  fall  in  a  grateful  cascade 
upon  Crailey  and  himself,  three  manly  voices  were 
heard  singing,  as  three  men  toiled  through  the  bil- 
lows of  rosy  gray,  below  the  beleaguered  pair: 

'«  Oh  the  nolle  Duke  of  York, 

He  had  ten  thousand  men ; 
He  marched  them  up  the  side  of  a  house, 
And  marched  them  down  again  I* 

A  head  appeared  above  the  eaves,  and  Marsh, 
then  Eugene,  then  Cummings,  came  crawling  over 
the  cornice  in  turn,  to  join  their  comrades.  They 
were  a  gallant  band,  those  young  gentlemen  of 
Rouen,  and  they  came  with  the  ironical  song  on 
their  lips,  and,  looking  at  one  another,  ragged  and 
scarified,  burst  into  hoarse  but  indomitable 
laughter. 

Two  others  made  an  attempt  to  follow,  and  would 
[99] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

not  be  restrained.  It  was  noticed  that  parts  of  the 
lower  ladder  had  been  charring;  and  the  ladder- 
men  were  preparing  to  remove  it  to  a  less  danger- 
ous point,  when  old  General  Trumble  and  young 
Jefferson  Bareaud  made  a  rush  to  mount  it,  and 
were  well  upon  their  upward  way  before  the  ladder, 
weakened  at  the  middle,  sagged,  splintered,  and 
broke,  Trumble  and  Bareaud  falling  with  it.  And 
there  was  the  grappling-ladder,  dangling  forty 
feet  above  the  ground ;  and  there  were  the  five  upon 
the  roof. 

The  Department  had  no  other  ladder  of  more 
than  half  the  length  of  the  shattered  one.  Not 
only  the  Department,  but  every  soul  in  Rouen, 
knew  that;  and  there  rose  the  thick,  low  sigh  of  a 
multitude,  a  sound  frightful  to  hear.  It  became 
a  groan,  then  swelled  into  a  deep  cry  of  alarm  and 
lamentation. 

And  now,  almost  simultaneously,  the  west  wall 
of  the  building,  and  the  south  wall,  and  all  the 
southwestern  portions  of  the  roof,  covered  them- 
selves with  voluminous  mantles  of  flame,  which  in- 
creased so  hugely  and  with  such  savage  rapidity 
[100] 


The  Ever  Unpractical  Feminine 
that  the  one  stream  on  the  roof  was  seen  to  be  but 
a  ridiculous  and  useless  opposition. 

Everybody  began  to  shout  advice  to  his  neigh- 
bor ;  and  nobody  listened  even  to  himself.  The  fire- 
men were  in  as  great  a  turmoil  as  was  the  crowd, 
while  women  covered  their  eyes.  Young  Frank 
Chenoweth  was  sobbing  curses  upon  the  bruised 
and  shaking  Trumble  and  Jefferson  Bareaud,  who 
could  only  stand  remorseful,  impotently  groaning, 
and  made  no  answer. 

The  walls  of  the  southernmost  warehouse  followed 
the  roof,  crashing  inward  one  after  the  other,  a 
sacrificial  pyre  with  its  purpose  consummated ;  and 
in  the  seeth  and  flare  of  its  passing,  Tom  Vanrevel 
again  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  looked 
down  across  the  upturned  faces.  The  pedestal  with 
the  grotesque  carvings  was  still  there;  but  the 
crowning  figure  had  disappeared — the  young  god- 
dess was  gone.  For  she,  of  all  that  throng,  had  an 
idea  in  her  head,  and,  after  screaming  it  to  every 
man  within  reach,  only  to  discover  the  impossibil- 
ity of  making  herself  understood  in  that  Babel,  she 
was  struggling  to  make  her  way  toward  the  second 
[10J] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

warehouse,  through  the  swaying  jam  of  people.  It 
was  a  difficult  task,  as  the  farther  in  she  managed 
to  go,  the  denser  became  the  press  and  the  more 
tightly  she  found  the  people  wedged,  until  she  re- 
ceived involuntary  aid  from  the  firemen.  In  turn- 
ing their  second  stream  to  play  ineffectually  upon 
the  lower  strata  of  flame,  they  accidentally  de- 
flected it  toward  the  crowd,  who  separated  wildly, 
leaving  a  big  gap,  of  which  Miss  Betty  took 
instant  advantage.  She  darted  across,  and  the 
next  moment,  unnoticed,  had  entered  the  build- 
ing through  the  door  which  Crailey  Gray  had 
opened. 

The  five  young  men  on  the  roof  were  well  aware 
that  there  was  little  to  do  but  to  wait,  and  soon 
they  would  see  which  was  to  win,  they  or  the  fire ; 
so  they  shifted  their  line  of  hose  to  the  eastern 
front  of  the  building — out  of  harm's  way,  for  a 
little  time,  at  least — and  held  the  muzzle  steady, 
watching  its  work.  And  in  truth  it  was  not  long 
before  they  understood  which  would  conquer.  The 
southern  and  western  portions  of  the  building  had 
flung  out  great  flames  that  fluttered  and  flared  on 
[102] 


The  Ever  Unpractical  Feminine 
the  breeze  like  Titanic  flags ;  and  steadily,  slowly, 
at  first,  then  faster  as  the  seconds  flew,  the  five 
were  driven  backward,  up  the  low  slope  of  the  roof 
toward  the  gable-ridge.  Tom  Vanrevel  held  the 
first  joint  of  the  nozzle,  and  he  retreated  with  a 
sulky  face,  lifting  his  foot  grudgingly  at  each 
step.  They  were  all  silent,  now,  and  no  one  spoke 
until  Will  Cummin gs  faltered: 

"  Surely  they'll  get  a  rope  up  to  us  some 
way?" 

Will  knew  as  well  as  did  the  others  that  there 
was  no  way ;  but  his  speech  struck  the  sullen  heart 
of  the  chief  with  remorse.  He  turned.  "  I  hope 
you'll  all  forgive  me  for  getting  you  up  here." 

A  sound,  half  sob,  half  giggle,  came  from  the 
parched  lips  of  Eugene  Madrillon,  as  he  patted 
Tom  on  the  shoulder  without  speaking,  and  Crailey 
nodded  quietly,  then  left  the  group  and  went  to  the 
eastern  edge  of  the  roof  and  looked  out  upon  the 
crowd.  Cummings  dropped  the  line  and  sat  down, 
burying  his  hot  face  in  his  arms,  for  they  all  saw 
that  Vanrevel  thought  "  it  was  no  use,"  but  a  ques- 
tion of  a  few  minutes,  and  they  would  retreat  across 
[103] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

the  gable  and  either  jump  or  go  down  with  the 
roof. 

Since  the  world  began,  idle  and  industrious  phi- 
losophers have  speculated  much  upon  the  thoughts 
of  men  about  to  die ;  yet  it  cannot  be  too  ingenuous 
to  believe  that  such  thoughts  vary  as  the  men,  their 
characters,  and  conditions  of  life  vary.  Never- 
theless, pursuant  with  the  traditions  of  minstrelsy 
and  romance,  it  is  conceivable  that  young,  unmar- 
ried men,  called  upon  to  face  desperate  situations, 
might,  at  the  crucial  moment,  rush  to  a  common 
experience  of  summoning  the  vision,  each  of  his 
heart's  desire,  and  to  meet,  each  his  doom,  with  her 
name  upon  his  lips. 

An  extraordinary  thing  occurred  in  the  present 
instance,  for,  by  means  of  some  fragmentary  re- 
marks let  fall  at  the  time,  and  afterward  recalled 
— such  as  Tappingham  Marsh's  gasping :  "  At 
least  it  will  be  on  her  father's  roof ! "  and  from 
other  things  later  overheard,  an  inevitable  deduc- 
tion has  been  reached  that  four  of  the  five  gentle- 
men in  the  perilous  case  herein  described  were  oc- 
[  10*  ] 


The  Ever  Unpractical  Feminine 
cupied   with   the   vision    of   the    same   person,  to 
wit :  Miss  Elizabeth  Carewe,  "  the  last — the  pret- 
tiest— to  come  to  town !  " 

Crailey  Gray,  alone,  spoke  not  at  all;  but  why 
did  he  strain  and  strain  his  eyes  toward  that  empty 
pedestal  with  the  grotesque  carvings?  Did  he 
seek  Fanchon  there,  or  was  Miss  Carewe  the  last 
sweet  apparition  in  the  fancies  of  all  five  of  the 
unhappy  young  men? 

The  coincidence  of  the  actual  appearance  of  the 
lady  among  them,  therefore  seemed  the  more  mi- 
raculous, when,  wan  and  hopeless,  staggering  des- 
perately backward  to  the  gable-ridge,  they  heard 
a  clear  contralto  voice  behind  them: 

"  Hadn't  you  better  all  come  down  now  ?  "  it 
said. — "  The  stairway  will  be  on  fire  before 
long." 

Only  one  thing  could  have  been  more  shockingly 
unexpected  to  the  five  than  that  there  should  be  a 
sixth  person  on  the  roof,  and  this  was  that  the  sixth 
person  should  be  Miss  Betty  Carewe. 

They  turned,  aghast,  agape,  chopfallen  with  as- 
tonishment, stunned,  and  incredulous. 

I**] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

She  stood  just  behind  the  gable-ridge,  smiling 
amiably,  a  most  incongruous  little  pink  fan  in  her 
hand,  the  smoke-wreaths  partly  obscuring  her  and 
curling  between  the  five  and  her  white  dress,  like 
mists  floating  across  the  new  moon. 

Was  it  but  a  kindly  phantasm  of  the  brain? 
Was  it  the  incarnation  of  the  last  vision  of  the  lost 
Volunteers  ?  Was  it  a  Valkyrie  assuming  that  love- 
ly likeness  to  perch  upon  this  eyrie,  waiting  to 
bear  their  heroic  souls  to  Valhalla,  or — was  it  Miss 
Betty  Carewe? 

To  the  chief  she  spoke — all  of  them  agreed  to 
that  afterward — but  it  was  Crailey  who  answered, 
while  Tom  could  only  stare,  and  stand  wagging  his 
head  at  the  lovely  phantom,  like  a  Mandarin  on 
a  shelf. 

"  My  mother  in  heaven ! "  gasped  Crailey. 
"  How  did  you  come  up  here?  " 

"  There's  a  trap  in  the  roof  on  the  other  side  of 
the  ridge,"  she  said,  and  she  began  to  fan  herself 
with  the  pink  fan.  "  A  stairway  runs  all  the  way 
down — old  Nelson  showed  me  through  these  build- 
ings yesterday — and  that  side  isn't  on  fire  yet.  I'm 
[106] 


The  Ever  Unpractical  Feminine 
so  sorry  I  didn't  think  of  it  until  a  moment  ago, 
because  you  could  have  brought  the  water  up  that 
way.    But  don't  you  think  you'd  better  come  down 
now?  " 


[107] 


CHAPTER   VII 

The  Comedian 

NOT  savage   Hun,   nor   "  barbarous  Van- 
dyke," nor  demon  Apache,  could  wish  to 
dwell  upon  the  state  of  mind  of  the  Chief 
of  the  Rouen  Volunteer  Fire  Department;  there- 
fore, let  the  curtain  of  mercy  descend.     Without  a 
word,  he  turned  and  dragged  the  nozzle  to  the 
eastern  eaves,  whence,  after  a  warning  gesture  to 
those  below,  he  dropped  it  to  the  ground.     And, 
out  of  compassion,  it  should  be  little  more  than 
hinted  that  the  gesture  of  warning  was  very  slight. 
When  the  rescued  band  reached  the  foot  of  the 
last  flight  of  stairs,  they  beheld  the  open  doorway 
as  a  frame  for  a  great  press  of  intent  and  con- 
torted faces,  every  eye  still  strained  to  watch  the 
roof;   none  of  the  harrowed   spectators   compre- 
hending the  appearance  of  the  girl's  figure  there, 
nor  able  to  see  whither  she  had  led  the  five  young 
[108] 


The  Comedian 

men,  until  Tappingham  Marsh  raised  a  shout  as 
he  leaped  out  of  the  door  and  danced  upon  the 
solid  earth  again. 

Then,  indeed,  there  was  a  mighty  uproar ;  cheer 
after  cheer  ascended  to  the  red  vault  of  heaven; 
women  wept,  men  whooped,  and  the  people  rushed 
for  the  heroes  with  wide-open,  welcoming  arms. 
Jefferson  Bareaud  and  Frank  Chenoweth  and  Gen- 
eral Trumble  dashed  at  Tom  Vanrevel  with  inco- 
herent cries  of  thanksgiving,  shaking  his  hands 
and  beating  him  hysterically  upon  the  back.  He 
greeted  them  with  bitter  laughter. 

"  Help  get  the  water  into  the  next  warehouse ; 
this  one  is  beyond  control,  but  we  can  save  the  other 
two.  Take  the  lines  in — through  the  door!  "  He 
brushed  the  rejoicing  friends  off  abruptly,  and 
went  on  in  a  queer,  hollow  voice :  "  There  are 
stairs — and  I'm  so  sorry  I  didn't  think  of  it  until 
a  moment  ago,  because  you  could  have  brought  the 
water  up  that  way !  " 

A  remarkable  case  of  desertion  had  occurred,  the 
previous  instant,  under  his  eyes.      As  the  party 
emerged  from  the  warehouse  into  the  street,  Tom 
[109] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

heard  Crailey  say  hurriedly  to  Miss  Carewe :  "  Let 
me  get  you  away ; — come  quickly !  "  saw  him  sud- 
denly seize  her  hand,  and,  eluding  the  onrushing 
crowd,  run  with  her  round  the  corner  of  the  build- 
ing. And  somehow,  through  what  inspiration,  or 
through  what  knowledge  of  his  partner's  "  temper- 
ament," heaven  knows,  the  prophetic  soul  of  the 
chief  was  unhappily  assured  that  Crailey  would 
offer  himself  as  escort  to  her  home,  and  find  ac- 
ceptance. But  why  not?  Was  it  Crailey  who 
had  publicly  called  his  fellow-man  fool,  idiot,  im- 
becile, at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  only  to  find  himself 
the  proven  numskull  of  the  universe!  Tom  stood 
for  a  moment  staring  after  the  vanishing  pair, 
while  over  his  face  stole  the  strangest  expression 
that  ever  man  saw  there ;  then,  with  meekly  bowed 
shoulders,  he  turned  again  to  his  work. 

At  the  corner  of  the  warehouse,  Miss  Carewe 
detached  her  hand  from  Crailey's,  yet  still  fol- 
lowed him  as  he  made  a  quick  detour  round  the 
next  building.  A  minute  or  two  later  they  found 
themselves,  undetected,  upon  Main  Street  in  the 
rear  of  the  crowd.  There  Crailey  paused. 
[110] 


The  Comedian 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  breathlessly,  "  for  tak- 
ing your  hand.  I  thought  you  would  like  to  get 
away." 

She  regarded  him  gravely,  so  that  he  found  it 
difficult  to  read  her  look,  except  that  it  was  seri- 
ously questioning;  but  whether  the  interrogation 
was  addressed  to  him  or  to  herself  he  could  not 
determine.  After  a  silence  she  said: 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  followed  you.  I  believe 
it  must  have  been  because  you  didn't  give  me  time 
to  think." 

This,  of  course,  made  him  even  quicker  with  her 
than  before.  "  It's  all  over,"  he  said  briskly. 
"  The  first  warehouse  is  gone ;  the  second  will  go, 
but  they'll  save  the  others  easily  enough,  now 
that  you  have  pointed  out  that  the  lines  may  be 
utilized  otherwise  than  as  adjuncts  of  perform- 
ances on  the  high  trapeze !  "  They  were  standing 
by  a  picket-fence,  and  he  leaned  against  it,  over- 
come by  mirth  in  which  she  did  not  join.  Her 
gravity  reacted  upon  him  at  once,  and  his  laugh- 
ter was  stopped  short.  "  Will  you  not  accept  me 
as  an  escort  to  your  home?  "  he  said  formally. 
[Ill] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  returned  simply,  the  sort 
of  honest  trouble  in  her  glance  that  is  seen  only  in 
very  young  eyes. 

"  What  reason  in  the  world !  "  he  returned,  with 
a  crafty  sharpness  of  astonishment. 

She  continued  to  gaze  upon  him  thoughtfully, 
while  he  tried  to  look  into  her  eyes,  but  was  baf- 
fled because  the  radiant  beams  from  the  lady's 
orbs  (as  the  elder  Chenoweth  might  have  said) 
rested  somewhere  dangerously  near  his  chin,  which 
worried  him,  for,  though  his  chin  made  no  retreat 
and  was  far  from  ill-looking,  it  was,  nevertheless, 
that  feature  which  he  most  distrusted.  "  Won't 
you  tell  me  why  not?  "  he  repeated,  uneasily. 

"  Because,"  she  answered  at  last,  speaking  hesi- 
tatingly, "  because  it  isn't  so  easy  a  matter  for  me 
as  you  seem  to  think.  You  have  not  been  intro- 
duced to  me,  and  I  know  you  never  will  be,  and 
that  what  you  told  me  was  true." 

"  Which  part  of  what  I  told  you?  "  The  ques- 
tion escaped  from  him  instanter. 

"  That  the  others  might  come  when  they  liked, 
but  that  you  could  not." 

[US] 


The  Comedian 

"  Oh  yes,  yes."  His  expression  altered  to  a 
sincere  dejection;  his  shoulders  drooped,  and  his 
voice  indicated  supreme  annoyance.  "  I  might 
have  known  someone  would  tell  you !  Who  was  it  ? 
Did  they  say  why  I " 

"  On  account  of  your  quarrel  with  my  father." 

"  My  quarrel  with  your  father !  "  he  exclaimed ; 
and  his  face  lit  with  an  elated  surprise;  his  shoul- 
ders straightened.  He  took  a  step  nearer  her,  and 
asked,  eagerly:  "  Who  told  you  that?  " 

"  My  father  himself.  He  spoke  of  a  Mr.  Van- 
revel  whom  he — disliked,  and  whom  I  must  not 
meet;  and,  remembering  what  you  had  said,  of 
course  I  knew  that  you  were  he." 

"  Oh !  "  Crailey's  lips  began  to  form  a  smile 
of  such  appealing  and  inimitable  sweetness  that 
Voltaire  would  have  trusted  him;  a  smile  alto- 
gether rose-leaves.  "  Then  I  lose  you,"  he  said, 
"  for  my  only  chance  to  know  you  was  in  keeping 
it  hidden  from  you.  And  now  you  understand !  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  gravely,  "  I  don't  under- 
stand; that  is  what  troubles  me.  If  I  did,  and 
believed  you  had  the  right  of  the  difference,  I 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

could  believe  it  no  sin  that  you  should  speak  to 
me,  should  take  me  home  now.  I  think  it  is  wrong 
not  to  act  from  your  own  understanding  of 
things." 

The  young  man  set  his  expression  as  one  in- 
domitably fixed  upon  the  course  of  honor,  cost 
what  it  might ;  and,  in  the  very  action,  his  lurking 
pleasure  in  doing  it  hopped  out  in  the  flicker  of  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyes,  and  as  instantly  sought  cover 
again — the  flea  in  the  rose-jar. 

"  Then  you  must  ask  some  other,"  he  said, 
firmly.  "  A  disinterested  person  should  tell  you. 
The  difference  was  political  in  the  beginning,  but 
became  personal  afterward;  and  it  is  now  a  quar- 
rel which  can  never  be  patched  up,  though,  for 
my  part,  I  wish  that  it  could  be.  I  can  say  no 
more,  because  a  party  to  it  should  not  speak." 

She  met  his  level  look  squarely  at  last;  and  no 
man  ever  had  a  more  truthful  pair  of  eyes  than 
Crailey  Gray,  for  it  was  his  great  accomplishment 
that  he  could  adjust  his  emotion,  his  reason,  and 
something  that  might  be  called  his  faith,  to  fit  any 
situation  in  any  character. 

[114] 


The  Comedian 

"  You  may  take  me  home,"  she  answered.  "  I 
may  be  wrong,  and  even  disloyal;  but  I  do  not 
feel  it  so,  now.  You  did  a  very  brave  thing  to- 
night to  save  him  from  loss,  and  I  think  that 
what  you  have  said  was  just  what  you  should  have 
said." 

So  they  went  down  the  street,  the  hubbub  and 
confusion  of  the  fire  growing  more  and  more  in- 
distinct behind  them.  They  walked  slowly,  and, 
for  a  time,  neither  spoke;  yet  the  silence  was  of  a 
kind  which  the  adept  rejoiced  to  have  produced 
thus  soon — their  second  meeting.  For  he  believed 
there  were  more  strange  things  in  heaven  and 
earth  than  Horatio  wot;  and  one  of  the  strangest 
was  that  whenever  he  was  near  an  attractive  woman 
during  a  silence  such  as  this,  something  not  to  be 
defined,  but  as  effective  as  it  was  indefinite,  always 
went  out  from  him  to  her.  It  was  like  a  word  of 
tenderness,  a  word  too  gentle,  too  compelling,  too 
sweet,  to  be  part  of  any  tongue,  spoken  or  written. 
And  more:  this  ineffable  word  had  an  echo,  and 
came  back  to  him  from  the  woman. 

As  his  partner  had  in  dress,  so  Crailey  had  with 
[115] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

women,  some  color  of  the  Beau ;  but  it  was  not  in 
what  experience  had  given  him  to  recognize  as  a 
fact:  that  they  were  apt  to  fall  in  love  with  him. 
(That  they  were  apt  to  remain  in  love  with  him — 
he  understood  perfectly — was  another  matter.) 
And  he  knew  when  they  were  doing  it ;  could  have 
told  them  accurately,  at  each  step,  what  they  were 
feeling,  thinking,  dreaming,  during  the  process, 
because  he  was  usually  exhibiting  the  same  symp- 
toms to  himself  at  the  same  time. 

Thus,  his  own  breast  occupied  with  that  dizzy 
elation  which  followed  its  reception  of  the  insane 
young  god's  arrows,  and  his  heart  warm  with  the 
rise  of  the  old  emotion  that  he  knew  so  well,  he  was 
nevertheless  able  to  walk  with  his  finger  on  the 
pulse  of  the  exquisite  moment,  counting  her  heart- 
beats and  his  own. 

So,  to  his  fancy,  as  they  walked,  the  little  space 
between  them  was  hung  with  brilliant  strands,  like 
gossamer  chains  of  gold,  already  linking  them  to- 
gether; every  second  fixing  another  slender,  pre- 
cious fetter,  binding  them  closer,  drawing  her 
nearer.  He  waited  until  they  passed  into  the  shad- 
[116] 


The  Comedian 

ows  of  the  deserted  Carewe  Street  before  he  spoke. 
There  he  stopped  abruptly;  at  which  she  turned, 
astonished. 

"  Now  that  you  have  saved  my  life,"  he  said, 
in  a  low,  tremulous  tone,  "  what  are  you  going  to 
do  with  it?  " 

Her  eyes  opened  almost  as  widely  as  they  had 
at  her  first  sight  of  him  in  her  garden.  There 
was  a  long  pause  before  she  replied,  and  when  she 
did,  it  was  to  his  considerable  surprise. 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  play,  except  the  funny 
little  ones  we  acted  at  the  convent,"  she  said, 
"  but  isn't  that  the  way  they  speak  on  the 
stage?" 

Crailey  realized  that  his  judgment  of  the  silence 
had  been  mistaken,  and  yet  it  was  with  a  thrill  of 
delight  that '  he  recognized  her  clear  reading  of 
him.  He  had  been  too  florid  again. 

"  Let  us  go."  His  voice  was  soft  with  re« 
strained  forgiveness.  "You  mocked  me  once 
before." 

"  Mocked  you?  "  she  repeated,  as  they  went  on. 

"  Mocked  me,"  he  said,  firmly.     "  Mocked  me 
[117] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

for  seeming  theatrical,  and  yet  you  have  learned 
that  what  I  said  was  true;  as  you  will  again." 

She  mused  upon  this;  then,  as  in  whimsical 
indulgence  to  an  importunate  child : 

"  Well,  tell  me  what  you  mean  when  you  say  I 
saved  your  life." 

"  You  came  alone,"  he  began,  hastily,  "  to  stand 
upon  that  burning  roof " 

«  Whence  all  but  him  had  fled ! "  Her  laughter 
rang  out,  interrupting  him.  "  My  room  was  on 
the  fourth  floor  at  St.  Mary's,  and  I  didn't  mind 
climbing  three  flights  this  evening." 

Crailey's  good-nature  was  always  perfect. 
"  You  mock  me  and  you  mock  me ! "  he  cried,  and 
made  her  laughter  but  part  of  a  gay  duet.  "  I 
know  I  have  gone  too  fast,  have  said  things  I 
should  have  waited  to  say ;  but,  ah !  remember  the 
small  chance  I  have  against  the  others  who  can 
see  you  when  they  like.  Don't  flout  me  because 
I  try  to  make  the  most  of  a  rare,  stolen  moment 
with  you." 

"  Do ! "  she  exclaimed,  grave  upon  the  instant. 
"  Do  make  the  most  of  it !     I  have  nothing  but 
[IUJ 


The  Comedian 

inexperience.  Make  the  most  by  treating  me  seri- 
ously. Won't  you?  I  know  you  can,  and  I — I — " 
She  faltered  to  a  full  stop.  She  was  earnest 
and  quiet,  and  there  had  been  something  in  her 
tone,  too — as  very  often  there  was — that  showed 
how  young  she  was.  "  Oh !  "  she  began  again, 
turning  to  him  impulsively,  "  I  have  thought  about 
you  since  that  evening  in  the  garden,  and  I  have 
wished  I  could  know  you.  I  can't  be  quite  clear 
how  it  happened,  but  even  those  few  minutes  left 
a  number  of  strong  impressions  about  you.  And 
the  strongest  was  that  you  were  one  with  whom  I 
could  talk  of  a  great  many  things,  if  you  would 
only  be  real  with  me.  I  believe — though  I'm  not 
sure  why  I  do — that  it  is  very  difficult  for  you  to 
be  real;  perhaps  because  you  are  so  different  at 
different  times  that  you  aren't  sure,  yourself,  which 
the  real  you  is.  But  the  person  that  you  are  be- 
ginning to  be  for  my  benefit  must  be  the  most 
trifling  of  all  your  selves,  lighter  and  easier  to 
put  on  than  the  little  mask  you  carried  the  other 
night.  If  there  were  nothing  better  underneath 
the  mask,  I  might  play,  too." 


The  Two  Vanrevel* 

u  Did  you  learn  this  at  the  convent?  "  gasped 
Crailey. 

"  There  was  a  world  there  in  miniature,"  she 
answered,  speaking  very  quickly.  "  I  think  all 
people  are  made  of  the  same  materials,  only  in 
such  different  proportions.  I  think  a  little  world 
might  hold  as  much  as  the  largest,  if  you  thought 
it  all  out  hard  enough,  and  your  experience  might 
be  just  as  broad  and  deep  in  a  small  corner  of  the 
earth  as  anywhere  else.  But  I  don't  know!  I  want 
to  understand — I  want  to  understand  everything! 
I  read  books,  and  there  are  people — but  no  one  who 
tells  me  what  I  want — I " 

"Stop."  He  lifted  his  hand.  "I  won't  act; 
I  shall  never  *  play  '  for  you  again."  He  was 
breathless;  the  witching  silence  was  nothing  to 
what  stirred  him  now.  A  singular  exaltation  rose 
in  him,  together  with  the  reckless  impulse  to  speak 
from  the  mood  her  vehement  confidence  had  in- 
spired. He  gave  way  to  it. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  said  huskily.  "  I  under- 
stand all  you  mean,  all  you  feel,  all  you  wish.  It 
is  all  echoing  here,  and  here,  and  here!  "  He 
[120] 


The  Comedian 

touched  his  breast,  his  eyes,  and  his  forehead  with 
the  fingers  of  his  long  and  slender  hand.  "  We 
sigh  and  strain  our  eyes  and  stretch  out  our  arms 
in  the  dark,  groping  always  for  the  strange  bless- 
ing that  is  just  beyond  our  grasp,  seeking  for  the 
precious  unknown  that  lies  just  over  the  horizon! 
It's  what  they  meant  by  the  pot  of  gold  where 
the  rainbow  ends — only,  it  may  be  there,  after 
all!" 

They  stopped  unconsciously,  and  remained 
standing  at  the  lower  end  of  the  Carewe  hedge. 
The  western  glow  had  faded,  and  she  was  gazing 
at  him  through  the  darkness,  leaning  forward, 
never  dreaming  that  her  tight  grasp  had  broken 
the  sticks  of  the  little  pink  fan. 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered,  eagerly.  "  You  are 
right :  you  understand !  " 

He  went  on,  the  words  coming  faster  and  faster : 
"  We  are  haunted — you  and  I — by  the  wish  to 
know  all  things,  and  by  the  question  that  lies 
under  every  thought  we  have:  the  agonizing 
Whither?  Isn't  it  like  that?  It  is  really  death 
that  makes  us  think.  You  are  a  good  Catholic: 


The  Two  Van/rebels 

you  go  to  mass ;  but  you  wish  to  know.  Does  God 
reign,  or  did  it  all  happen?  Sometimes  it  seems 
so  deadly  probable  that  the  universe  just  was,  no 
God  to  plan  it,  nothing  but  things;  that  we  die 
as  sparrows  die,  and  the  brain  is  all  the  soul  we 
have,  a  thing  that  becomes  clogged  and  stops 
some  day.  And  is  that  all?  " 

She  shivered  slightly,  but  her  steadfast  eyes  did 
not  shift  from  him.  He  threw  back  his  head,  and 
his  face,  uplifted  to  the  jewelled  sky  of  the  moon- 
less night,  was  beatific  in  its  peacefulness,  as  he 
continued  in  an  altered  tone,  gentle  and  low: 

"  I  think  all  questions  are  answered  there.  The 
stars  tell  it  all.  When  you  look  at  them  you  know! 
They  have  put  them  on  our  flag.  There  are  times 
when  this  seems  but  a  poor  nation:  boastful,  cor- 
rupt, violent,  and  preparing,  as  it  is  now,  to  steal 
another  country  by  fraud  and  war;  yet  the  stars 
on  the  flag  always  make  me  happy  and  confident. 
Do  you  see  the  constellations  swinging  above  us, 
such  unimaginable  vastnesses,  not  roving  or  crash- 
ing through  the  illimitable  at  haphazard,  but  mov- 
ing in  more  excellent  measure,  and  to  a  finer 
[122] 


The  Comedian 

rhythm,  than  the  most  delicate  clockwork  man  ever 
made?  The  great  ocean-lines  mark  our  seas  with 
their  paths  through  the  water;  the  fine  brains  of 
the  earth  are  behind  the  ships  that  sail  from  port  to 
port,  yet  how  awry  the  system  goes !  When  does 
a  ship  come  to  her  harbor  at  an  hour  determined 
when  she  sailed?  What  is  a  ship  beside  the  smallest 
moon  of  the  smallest  world?  But,  there  above  us, 
moons,  worlds,  suns,  all  the  infinite  cluster  of  co- 
lossi, move  into  place  to  the  exactness  of  a  hair  at 
the  precise  instant.  That  instant  has  been  planned, 
you  see;  it  is  part  of  a  system — and  can  a  system 
exist  that  no  mind  made  ?  Think  of  the  Mind  that 
made  this  one !  Do  you  believe  so  inconceivably  ma- 
jestic an  Intelligence  as  that  could  be  anything  but 
good  ?  Ah,  when  you  wonder,  look  above  you ;  look 
above  you  in  the  night,  I  say,"  he  cried,  his  hand 
upraised  like  his  transfigured  face.  "  Look  above 
you  and  you  will  never  fear  that  a  sparrow's  fall 
could  go  unmarked !  " 

It  was  not  to  the  stars  that  she  looked,  but  to 
the  orator,  as  long  as  he  held  that  pose,  which  lasted 
until  a  hard-ridden  horse  came  galloping  down  the 
[123] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

street.  As  it  dashed  by,  though  the  rider  looked 
neither  to  right  nor  left,  Miss  Betty  unconsciously 
made  a  feverish  clutch  at  her  companion's  sleeve, 
drawing  him  closer  to  the  hedge. 

"  It  is  my  father,"  she  said  hurriedly  in  a  low 
voice.  "  He  must  not  see  you.  You  must  never 
come  here.  Perhaps — "  She  paused,  then  quickly 
whispered :  "  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me. 
Good-night." 

He  looked  at  her  keenly,  and  through  the  dim- 
ness saw  that  her  face  was  shining  with  excitement. 
He  did  not  speak  again,  but,  taking  a  step  back- 
ward, smiled  faintly,  bent  his  head  in  humble  ac- 
quiescence, and  made  a  slight  gesture  of  his  hand 
for  her  to  leave  him.  She  set  her  eyes  upon  his 
once  more,  then  turned  swiftly  and  almost  ran 
along  the  hedge  to  the  gate ;  but  there  she  stopped 
and  looked  back.  He  was  standing  where  she  had 
left  him,  his  face  again  uplifted  to  the  sky. 

She  waved  him  an  uncertain  farewell,  and  ran 
into  the  garden,  both  palms  against  her  burning 
cheeks. 

Night  is  the  great  necromancer,  and  strange 
[124] 


The  Comedian 

are  the  fabrics  he  weaves;  he  lays  queer  spells; 
breathes  so  eerie  an  intoxication  through  the  dusk ; 
he  can  cast  such  glamours  about  a  voice!  He  is 
the  very  king  of  fairyland. 

Miss  Betty  began  to  walk  rapidly  up  and  down 
the  garden  paths,  her  head  bent  and  her  hands  still 
pressed  to  her  cheeks ;  now  and  then  an  unconscious 
exclamation  burst  from  her,  incoherent,  more  like 
a  gasp  than  a  word.  A  long  time  she  paced  the 
vigil  with  her  stirring  heart,  her  skirts  sweeping 
the  dew  from  the  leaning  flowers.  Her  lips  moved 
often,  but  only  the  confused,  vehement  "  Oh,  oh!  " 
came  from  them,  until  at  last  she  paused  in  the 
middle  of  the  garden,  away  from  the  trees,  where 
all  was  open  to  the  sparkling  firmament,  and  ex- 
tended her  arms  over  her  head. 

"  O,  strange  teacher,"  she  said  aloud,  "  I  take 
your  beautiful  stars!  I  shall  know  how  to  learn 
from  them ! " 

She  gazed  steadily  upward,  enrapt,  her  eyes  re- 
splendent with  their  own  starlight. 

"  Oh,  stars,  stars,  stars !  "  she  whispered. 

In  the  teeth  of  all  wizardry,  Night's  spells  do 

r  135  \ 


i 

The  Two  Vanrevels 

pass  at  sunrise ;  marvellous  poems  sink  to  doggerel, 
mighty  dreams  to  blown  ashes  and  solids  regain 
weight.  Miss  Betty,  waking  at  daybreak,  saw  the 
motes  dancing  in  the  sun  at  her  window,  and 
watched  them  with  a  placid,  unremembering  eye. 
She  began  to  stare  at  them  in  a  puzzled  way,  while 
a  look  of  wonder  slowly  spread  over  her  face.  Sud- 
denly she  sat  upright,  as  though  something  had 
startled  her.  Her  fingers  clenched  tightly. 
"Ah,  if  that  was  playing!" 


[126] 


CHAPTER  VIII 
A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 

MR.  CAREWE  was  already  at  the  break- 
fast-table,  but  the  light  of  his  countenance, 
hidden  behind  the  Rouen  Journal,  was 
not  vouchsafed  to  his  daughter  when  she  took  her 
place  opposite  him,  nor  did  he  see  fit  to  return  her 
morning  greeting,  from  which  she  generously  con- 
cluded that  the  burning  of  the  two  warehouses  had 
meant  a  severe  loss  to  him. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  father,"  she  said  gently.  (She 
had  not  called  him  "  papa  "  since  the  morning  after 
her  ball. )  "  I  hope  it  isn't  to  be  a  great  trouble  to 
you."  There  was  no  response,  and,  after  waiting 
for  some  time,  she  spoke  again,  rather  tremu- 
lously, yet  not  timidly:  "  Father?  " 

He  rose,  and  upon  his  brow  were  marked  the 
blackest  lines  of  anger  she  had  ever  seen,  so  that 
she  leaned  back  from  him,  startled;  but  he  threw 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

down  the  open  paper  before  her  on  the  table,  and 
struck  it  with  his  clenched  fist. 

"  Read  that !  "  he  said.  And  he  stood  over  her 
while  she  read. 

There  were  some  grandiloquent  headlines :  "  Miss 
Elizabeth  Carewe  an  Angel  of  Mercy !  Charming 
Belle  Saves  the  Lives  of  Five  Prominent  Citizens! 
Her  Presence  of  Mind  Prevents  Conflagration  from 
Wiping  Out  the  City !  "  It  may  be  noted  that  Will 
Cummings,  editor  and  proprietor  of  the  Journal, 
had  written  these  tributes,  as  well  as  the  whole  ac- 
count of  the  evening's  transactions,  and  Miss  Betty 
loomed  as  large  in  Will's  narrative  as  in  his  good 
and  lovelorn  heart.  There  was  very  little  concern- 
ing the  fire  in  the  Journal;  it  was  nearly  all  about 
Betty.  That  is  one  of  the  misfortunes  which  pur- 
sue a  lady  who  allows  an  editor  to  fall  in  love 
with  her. 

However,  there  was  a  scant  mention  of  the  ar- 
rival of  the  Volunteers  "  upon  the  scene  "  (though 
none  at  all  at  the  cause  of  their  delay)  and  an  elo- 
quent paragraph  was  devoted  to  their  handsome  ap- 
pearance, Mr.  Cummings  having  been  one  of  those 
[128] 


A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 
who  insisted  that  the  new  uniforms  should  be  worn. 
"  Soon,"  said  the  Journal,  "  through  the  daring  of 
the  Chief  of  the  Department,  and  the  Captain  of 
the  Hook-and-Ladder  Company,  one  of  whom 
placed  and  mounted  the  grappling-ladder,  over 
which  he  was  immediately  followed  by  the  other 
carrying  the  hose,  a  stream  was  sent  to  play  upon 
the  devouring  element,  a  feat  of  derring-do  per- 
sonally witnessed  by  a  majority  of  our  readers.  Mr. 
Vanrevel  and  Mr.  Gray  were  joined  by  Eugene 
Madrillon,  Tappingham  Marsh,  and  the  editor  of 
this  paper,  after  which  occurred  the  unfortunate 
accident  to  the  long  ladder,  leaving  the  five  named 
gentlemen  in  their  terrible  predicament,  face  to 
face  with  death  in  its  most  awful  form.  At  this 
frightful  moment" — and  all  the  rest  was  about 
Miss  Carewe. 

As  Will  himself  admitted,  he  had  "  laid  himself 
out  on  that  description."  One  paragraph  was 
composed  of  short  sentences,  each  beginning  with 
the  word  "  alone."  "  Alone  she  entered  the  shat- 
tered door !  Alone  she  set  foot  upon  the  first  flight 
of  stairs!  Alone  she  ascended  the  second!  Alone 
[129] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

she  mounted  the  third.  Alone  she  lifted  her  hand 
to  the  trap !  Alone  she  opened  it !  "  She  was  de- 
clared to  have  made  her  appearance  to  the  unfortu- 
nate prisoners  on  the  roof,  even  as  "  the  palm- 
laden  dove  to  the  despairing  Noah,"  and  Will  also 
asserted  repeatedly  that  she  was  the  "  Heroine  of 
the  Hour." 

Miss  Betty  blushed  to  see  her  name  so  blazoned 
forth  in  print ;  but  she  lacked  one  kind  of  vanity, 
and  failed  to  find  good  reason  for  more  than  a 
somewhat  troubled  laughter,  the  writer's  purpose 
was  so  manifestly  kind  in  spite  of  the  bizarre 
result. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  Mr.  Cummings  hadn't ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  It  would  have  been  better  not  to  speak 
of  me  at  all,  of  course ;  but  I  can't  see  that  there  is 
anything  to  resent — it  is  so  funny !  " 

"  Funny !  "  Mr.  Carewe  repeated  the  word  in 
a  cracked  falsetto,  with  the  evident  intention  of 
mocking  her,  and  at  the  same  time  hideously  con- 
torted his  face  into  a  grotesque  idiocy  of  expres- 
sion, pursing  his  lips  so  extremely,  and  setting 
his  brows  so  awry,  that  his  other  features  were  car- 
[130] 


A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 
ried  out  of  all  familiar  likeness,  effecting  an  altera- 
tion as  shocking  to  behold,  in  a  man  of  his  severe 
cast  of  countenance,  as  was  his  falsetto  mimicry  to 
hear.  She  rose  in  a  kind  of  terror,  perceiving  that 
this  contortion  was  produced  in  burlesque  of  her  own 
expression,  and,  as  he  pressed  nearer  her,  stepped 
back,  overturning  her  chair.  She  had  little  recol- 
lection of  her  father  during  her  childhood;  and  as 
long  as  she  could  remember,  no  one  had  spoken  to 
her  angrily,  or  even  roughly. 

As  she  retreated  from  him,  he  leaned  forward, 
thrusting  the  hideous  mask  closer  to  her  white  and 
horror-stricken  face. 

"  You  can't  see  anything  to  resent  in  that ! "  he 
gibbered.  "  It's  so  funny,  is  it?  Funny!  Funny! 
Funny!  I'll  show  you  whether  it's  funny  or  not, 
I'll  show  you !  "  His  voice  rose  almost  to  a  shriek. 
"  You  hang  around  fires,  do  you,  on  the  public 
streets  at  night?  You're  a  nice  one  for  me  to  leave 
in  charge  of  my  house  while  I'm  away,  you  trollop ! 
What  did  you  mean  by  going  up  on  that  roof? 
You  knew  that  damned  Vanrevel  was  there!  You 
did,  I  say,  you  knew  it ! " 

[131] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

She  ran  toward  the  door  with  a  frightened  cry ; 
but  he  got  between  it  and  her,  menacing  her  with 
his  upraised  open  hands,  shaking  them  over  her. 

"  You're  a  lovely  daughter,  aren't  you ! "  he 
shouted  hoarsely.  "  You  knew  perfectly  well  who 
was  on  that  roof,  and  you  went!  Didn't  you  go? 
Answer  me  that!  If  I'd  had  arms  about  me  when 
I  got  there,  I'd  have  shot  that  man  dead !  He  was 
on  my  property,  giving  orders,  the  black  hound! 
And  when  I  ordered  him  out,  he  told  me  if  I  inter- 
fered with  his  work  before  it  was  finished,  he'd  have 
me  thrown  out — me  that  owned  the  whole  place; 
and  there  wasn't  a  man  that  would  lend  me  a  pistol ! 
'  Rescue ! '  You'd  better  rescue  him  from  me,  you 
palm-laden  dove,  for  I'll  shoot  him,  I  will!  I'll 
kill  that  dog ;  and  he  knows  it.  He  can  bluster  in  a 
crowd,  but  he'll  hide  now !  He's  a  coward  and " 

"  He  came  home  with  me ;  he  brought  me  home 
last  night ! "  Her  voice  rang  out  in  the  room 
like  that  of  some  other  person,  and  she  hardly 
knew  that  it  was  herself  who  spoke. 

"You  lie!"  he  screamed,  and  fell  back  from 
her,  his  face  working  as  though  under  the  domi- 
[OH] 


A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 
nance  of  some  physical  disorder,  the  flesh  of  it  plas- 
tic beyond  conception,  so  that  she  cried  out  and  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  arm.  "  You  lie !  I  saw  you 
at  the  hedge  with  Crailey  Gray,  though  you 
thought  I  didn't.  What  do  you  want  to  lie  like 
that  for?  Vanrevel  didn't  even  speak  to  you.  I 
asked  Madrillon.  You  lie!" 

He  choked  upon  the  words ;  a  racking  cough 
shook  him  from  head  to  foot;  he  staggered 
back  and  dropped  upon  her  overturned  chair,  his 
arms  beating  the  table  in  front  of  him,  his 
head  jerking  spasmodically  backward  and  forward 
as  he  gasped  for  breath. 

-,  "  Ring  the  bell,"  he  panted  thickly,  with  an  in- 
coherent gesture.     "  Nelson  knows.     Ring !  " 

Nelson  evidently  knew.  He  brought  brandy  and 
water  from  the  sideboard  with  no  stinting  hand, 
and  within  ten  minutes  Mr.  Carewe  was  in  his  ac- 
customed seat,  competent  to  finish  his  breakfast. 
In  solitude,  however,  he  sat,  and  no  one  guessed 
his  thoughts. 

For  Miss  Betty  had  fled  to  her  own  room,  and 
had  bolted  the  door.     She  lay  upon  the  bed,  shud- 
[138] 


The  Two  Vanreveh 

dering  and  shivering  with  nausea  and  cold,  though 
the  day  was  warm.  Then,  like  a  hot  pain  in  her 
breast,  came  a  homesickness  for  St.  Mary's,  and 
the  flood-tide  of  tears,  as  she  thought  of  the  quiet 
convent  in  the  sunshine  over  to  the  west,  the  peace 
of  it,  and  the  goodness  of  everybody  there. 

"  Sister  Cecilia !  "  Her  shoulders  shook  with 
the  great  sob  that  followed  this  name,  dearest  to 
her  in  the  world,  convulsively  whispered  to  the  pil- 
low. "  Dear  Sister  Cecilia !  "  She  patted  the  white 
pillow  with  her  hand,  as  though  it  were  the  cool 
cheek  against  which  she  yearned  to  lay  her  own. 
"  Ah,  you  would  know — you  would  know ! " 
With  the  thought  of  the  serene  face  of  the  good 
Sister,  and  of  the  kind  arms  that  would  have  gone 
round  her  in  her  trouble,  her  sobbing  grew  loud 
and  uncontrollable.  But  she  would  not  have  her 
father  hear  it,  and  buried  her  face  deep  in  the  pil- 
low. After  a  time,  she  began  to  grow  quieter, 
turned,  and  lay  with  wet  eyes  staring  unseeingly 
at  the  wall,  her  underlip  quivering  with  the  deep 
intake  of  each  broken  sigh. 

"  Oh,  stars,  stars,  stars !  "  she  whispered. 
[134] 


A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 

"Missy?"  There  came  a  soft  knock  upon 
the  door  and  the  clink  of  silver  upon  china. 
"Missy?" 

"What  is  it?" 

So  quick  was  Miss  Betty  that,  although  she 
answered  almost  at  once,  the  tears  were  washed 
away,  and  she  was  passing  a  cool,  wet  towel  over 
her  eyes  at  the  moment  she  spoke. 

"  Jass  me.    I  brung  yo'  breakfas',  honey." 

Old  Nelson's  voice  was  always  low  and  gentle, 
with  a  quaver  and  hesitancy  in  the  utterance ;  now 
it  was  tender  and  comforting  with  the  comprehen- 
sion of  one  in  suffering,  the  extraordinary  tact, 
which  the  old  of  his  race  nearly  all  come  to  pos- 
sess. "  Li'l  chicken-wing  on  piece  brown  toast, 
honey." 

When  she  opened  the  door  he  came  in,  bending 
attentively  over  his  tray,  and,  without  a  glance 
toward  his  young  mistress,  made  some  show  of  fuss 
and  bustle,  as  he  placed  it  upon  a  table  near  the 
window  and  drew  up  a  chair  for  her  so  that  she 
could  sit  with  her  back  to  the  light. 

"  Dah  now !  "  he  exclaimed  softly,  removing  the 
[135] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

white  napkin  and  displaying  other  dainties  besides 
the  chicken  wing.  "  Dass  de  way !  Dat  ole  Mamie 
in  de  kitchen,  she  got  her  failin's  an'  her  grievin* 
sins ;  but  de  way  she  do  han'le  chicken  an'  biscuit 
sutney  ain't  none  on  'em!  She  plead  fo'  me  to 
ax  you  how  you  like  dem  biscuit." 

He  kept  his  head  bent  low  over  the  table,  setting 
a  fork  closer  to  Betty's  hand ;  arranging  the  plates, 
then  rearranging  them,  but  never  turning  his  eyes 
in  her  direction. 

"  Dat  ole  Mamie  mighty  vain,  yessuh ! "  He 
suffered  a  very  quiet  chuckle  to  escape  him. 
"  She  did  most  sutney  'sist  dat  I  ax  you  ain't  you 
like  dem  biscuit.  She  de  ve'y  vaines'  woman  in  dis 
State,  dat  ole  Mamie,  yessuh !  "  And  now  he  cast 
one  quick  glance  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  at 
Miss  Betty,  before  venturing  a  louder  chuckle. 
"  She  reckon  dem  biscuit  goin'  git  her  by  Sain' 
Petuh  when  she  'proach  de  hevumly  gates !  Uhuh ! 
I  tell  her  she  got  git  redemption  fo'  de  aigs  she 
done  ruin  dese  many  yeahs ;  'case  she  as  useless  wid 
an  ommelick  as  a  two-day  calf  on  de  slick  ice!" 
Here  he  laughed  loud  and  long.  "  You  jass  go 
[136] 


A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 
and  talk  wid  dat  Mamie,  some  day,  Missy ;  you'll 
see  how  vain  dat  woman  is." 

"Has  father  gone  out,  Nelson?"  asked  Betty 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes'm ;  he  up  town."  The  old  man's  tone  sank 
at  once  to  the  level  of  her  own ;  became  confidential, 
as  one  speaks  to  another  in  a  room  where  somebody 
is  ill.  "  He  mekkin'  perpetration  to  go  down  de 
rivuh  dis  aft'noon.  He  say  he  done  broke  de  news 
to  you  dat  he  goin'  'way.  Dey  goin'  buil'  dem 
wa'house  right  up,  an'  yo'  pa  he  necistate  go  'way 
'count  de  contrack.  He  be  gone  two  week',  honey," 
Nelson  finished,  without  too  much  the  air  of  im- 
parting cheery  tidings,  but  with  just  enough. 

"  I  am  to  stay  here  alone?  " 

"  Law  no,  Missy !  Dat  big  Miz  Tanberry,  dass 
de  bes'  frien'  we  all  got,  she  home  ag'in,  an'  yo' 
pa  goin'  invite  her  visit  at  de  house,  whiles  he  gone, 
an'  to  stay  a  mont'  aftuh  he  git  back,  too,  soze 
she  kin  go  to  all  de  doin's  an'  junketin's  wid  you, 
and  talk  wid  de  young  mens  dat  you  don'  like 
whiles  you  talks  wid  dem  you  does  like." 

"  What  time  will  father  come  home?  " 
[137] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

"  Home?     He  be  gone  two  week',  honey ! " 

"No;  I  mean  to-day." 

"  Law !  He  ain'  comin'  back.  Bid  me  pack  de 
trunk  an*  ca'y  um  down  to  de  boat  at  noon.  Den 
he  bid  me  say  far'-ye-well  an'  a  kine  good-bye  fo' 
him,  honey.  'Say  he  think  you  ain't  feelin'  too 
well,  soze  he  won't  'sturb  ye,  hisself,  an'  dat  he 
unestly  do  hope  you  goin'  have  splen'id  time  whiles 
he  trabblin'."  (Nelson's  imagination  covered 
many  deficits  in  his  master's  courtesy.)  "  Say  he 
reckon  you  an'  ole  Miz  Tanberry  goin'  git  'long 
mighty  nice  wid  one'nurr.  An'  dass  what  me  an' 
Mamie  reckon  'spechually  boun'  to  take  place, 
'case  dat  a  mighty  gay  lady,  dat  big  Miz  Tan- 
berry,  an'  ole  frien'  'er  owah  fambly.  She  'uz  a 
frien'  er  yo'  momma's,  honey." 

Miss  Betty  had  begun  by  making  a  pretence 
to  eat,  only  to  please  the  old  man,  but  the  vain 
woman's  cookery  had  been  not  unduly  extolled,  and 
Nelson  laughed  with  pleasure  to  see  the  fluffy  bis- 
cuits and  the  chicken  wing  not  nibbled  at  but  act- 
ually eaten.  This  was  a  healthy  young  lady,  he 
thought,  one  who  would  do  the  household  credit 
[138] 


A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 
and  justify  the  extravagant  pride  which  kitchen 
and  stable  already  had  in  her.  He  was  an  old 
house-servant,  therefore  he  had  seen  many  young 
ladies  go  through  unhappy  hours,  and  he  admired 
Miss  Betty  the  more  because  she  was  the  first  who 
had  indulged  in  strong  weeping  and  did  not  snuffle 
at  intervals  afterward.  He  understood  perfectly 
everything  that  had  passed  between  father  and 
daughter  that  morning. 

When  her  breakfast  was  finished,  she  turned 
slowly  to  the  window,  and,  while  her  eyes  did  not 
refill,  a  slight  twitching  of  the  upper  lids  made  him 
believe  that  she  was  going  over  the  whole  scene 
again  in  her  mind;  whereupon  he  began  to  move 
briskly  about  the  room  with  a  busy  air,  picking 
up  her  napkin,  dusting  a  chair  with  his  hand,  ex- 
changing the  position  of  the  andirons  in  the  fire- 
place; and,  apparently  discovering  that  the  por- 
trait of  Georges  Meilhac  was  out  of  line,  he  set  it 
awry,  then  straight  again,  the  while  he  hummed  an 
old  "  spiritual "  of  which  only  the  words  "  Chain 
de  Lion  Down  "  were  allowed  to  be  quite  audible. 
They  were  repeated  often,  and  at  each  repetition 
[139] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

of  them  he  seemed  profoundly,  though  decorously, 
amused,  in  a  way  which  might  have  led  to  a  con- 
jecture that  the  refrain  bore  some  distant  refer- 
ence to  his  master's  eccentricity  of  temper.  At 
first  he  chuckled  softly,  but  at  the  final  iteration  of 
"  Chain  de  Lion  Down  "  burst  into  outright  laugh- 
ter. 

"  Honey,  my  Law ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  But  yo' 
pa  de  'ceivin'dest  man!  He  mighty  proud  er 
you ! " 

"  Proud  of  me !  "  She  turned  to  him  in  astonish- 
ment. 

Nelson's  laughter  increased.  "  Hain't  he  jass 
de  'ceivin'dest  man !  Yessuh,  he  de  sot-uppest  man 
in  dis  town  'count  what  you  done  last  night.  What 
he  say  dis  mawn',  dat  jass  his  "way!  " 

"  Ah,  no!  "  said  Miss  Betty,  sadly. 

"  Yes'm !  He  proud  er  you,  but  he  teahbul  mad 
at  dat  man.  He  hain't  mad  at  you,  but  he  gotter 
cuss  somebody!  Jass  reach  out  fo'  de  nighes'  he 
kin  lay  han's  on,  an'  dis  mawn'  it  happen  soze  it 
were  you,  honey.  Uhuh !  You  oughter  hearn  him 
las'  night  when  he  come  home.  Den  it  were  me. 


A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 
Bless  God,  I  ain't  keerin'.     He  weren't  mad  at 
me,  no  mo'n'  he  were  at  you.     He  jass  mad!  " 

Miss  Betty  looked  at  the  old  fellow  keenly.  He 
remained,  however,  apparently  unconscious  of  her 
scrutiny,  and  occupied  himself  with  preparations 
for  removing  the  tray. 

"  Nelson,  what  is  the  quarrel  between  my  father 
and  Mr.  Vanrevel?" 

He  had  lifted  the  tray,  but  set  it  down  precipi- 
tately, bending  upon  her  a  surprised  and  sobered 
countenance. 

"  Missy,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  Dey  big  trouble 
'twix*  dem  two." 

"I  know,"  she  returned  quietly.  "What  is 
it?" 

"  Wha'  fo'  you  ax  me,  Missy?  " 

"  Because  you're  the  only  one  I  can  ask.  I 
don't  know  anyone  here  well  enough,  except 
you." 

Nelson's  lips  puckered  solemnly.  "  Mist'  Van- 
revel  vote  Whig ;  but  he  ag'in  Texas." 

"Well,  what  if  he  is?" 

"  Yo'  pa  mighty  strong  f  o'  Texas." 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

"Is  that  all?" 

"No'm,  dat  ain't  hardly  de  beginnin'.  Mist' 
Vanrevel  he  a  Ab'litionist." 

"  Well  ?     Won't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Honey,  folks  roun'  heah  mos'  on  'em  like  Mist' 
Vanrevel  so  well  dey  ain't  hole  it  up  ag'in'  him — 
but,  Missy,  ef  dey  one  thing  topper  God's  worl' 
yo'  pa  do  desp'itly  and  contestably  despise,  hate, 
cuss,  an'  outrageously  'bominate  wuss'n'  a  yaller 
August  spiduh  it  are  a  Ab'litionist!  He  want 
stomple  'em  eve'y  las'  one  under  he  boot-heel,  'cep'n 
dat  one  Mist'  Crailey  Gray.  Dey's  a  considabul 
sprinklin'  er  dem  Ab'litionists  'bout  de  kentry, 
honey;  dey's  mo'  dat  don'  know  w'ich  dey  is;  an' 
dey's  mo'  still  dat  don'  keer.  Soze  dat  why  dey  go 
git  up  a  quo'l  twix'  yo'  pa  an'  dat  man ;  an'  'range 
to  have  'er  on  a  platfawm,  de  yeah  'fo'  de  las' 
campaign ;  an',  suh,  dey  call  de  quo'l  a  de-b&ie ;  an' 
all  de  folks  come  in  f'um  de  kentry,  an'  all  de  folks 
in  town  come,  too.  De  whole  possetucky  on  'em 
sit  an'  listen. 

"  Fus'  yo'  pa  talk ;  den  Mist'  Vanrevel,  bofe  on 
'em  mighty  cole  an'  civilized.  Den  yo'  pa  git  wo'm 
£142] 


A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 
up,  Missy,  like  he  do,  'case  he  so  useter  have  his 
own  way;  'tain't  his  fault,  he  jass  cain't  help  hol- 
lerin'  an'  cussin'  if  anybody  'pose  him;  but  Mist' 
Vanrevel  he  jass  as  suvvige,  but  he  stay  cole,  w'ach 
make  yo'  pa  all  de  hotter.  He  holler  mighty  strong, 
Missy,  an'  some  de  back  ranks  'gun  snickerin'  at 
him.  Uhuh !  He  fa'r  jump,  he  did ;  an'  den  bime- 
by  Mist'  Vanrevel  he  say  dat  no  man  oughter  be 
given  de  pilverige  to  sell  another,  ner  to  wollop  him 
wid  a  blacksnake,  whether  he  'buse  dat  pilverige  er 
not.  '  My  honabul  'ponent,'  s's  he,  '  Mist'  Carewe, 
rep'sent  in  hisself  de  'ristocratic  slave-ownin'  class 
er  de  Souf,  do'  he  live  in  de  Nawf  an'  'ploy  free 
labor;  yit  it  sca'sely  to  be  b'lieve  dat  any  er  you 
would  willin'ly  trus'  him  wid  de  powah  er  life  an* 
death  ovah  yo'  own  chillun,  w'ich  is  virchously  what 
de  slave-ownah  p'sess.' 

"  Missy,  you  jass  oughter  see  yo'  pa  den!  He 
blue  in  de  face  an'  dance  de  quadrille  on  de  boa'ds. 
He  leave  his  cha'h,  git  up,  an'  run  'cross  to  de 
odder  side  de  platfawm,  an'  shake  he  fis'  ovah  dat 
man's  head,  an'  screech  out  how  it  all  lies  dat  de 
slaves  evah  'ceive  sich  a  treatments.  *  Dat  all  lies, 
[143] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

you  pu'juh!'  he  holler.  'All  lies,  you  misabul 
thief,'  he  holler.  *  All  lies,  an'  you  know  it,  you 
low-bawn  slandah'  an'  scoun'le ! ' 

"  An'  wid  dat  Mist'  Vanrevel,  he  laff  in  yo'  pa 
face,  an'  tuhn  to  de  crowd,  he  did,  an'  say :  '  You 
reckon  dat  if  dish  yuh  man  a  slave-ownah,  an'  a 
slave  had  anguhed  him  as  I  have  anguhed  him  to- 
night, does  any  er  you  b'lieve  dat  dat  slave  wouldn' 
be  tied  up  an'  whipped  tell  de  blood  run,  an'  den 
sole  down  de  rivuh  to-morrer? ' 

"  Well,  suh,  'co'se  mos'  on  'em  b'lieve  same  as  yo' 
pa;  but  dat  sutney  fotch  'em,  an'  win  de  de-b&ie, 
'case  dey  jass  natchully  lay  back  an'  roah,  dey  did, 
Missy ;  dey  laff  an'  stomp  an'  holler  tell  you  could 
a  hearn  'em  a  mild  away.  An'  honey,  yo'  pa'd  a 
millyum  times  druther  Mist'  Vanrevel'd  a  kilt  him 
dan  tuhn  de  laff  on  him.  He'd  shoot  a  man,  honey, 
ef  he  jass  s'picion  him  to  grin  out  de  cornder  his 
eye  at  him;  an'  to  stan*  up  dah  wid  de  whole 
county  fa'r  roahin'  at  him — it's  de  God's  mussy  he 
did'n  have  no  ahms  wid  him,  dat  night !  Ole  Mist' 
Chen'eth  done  brung  him  home,  an'  yo'  pa  reach 
out  an'  kick  me  squah'  out'n'  de  liberry  winder 
[OMJ 


A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 
soon's  he  ketch  sight  er  me ! "  They  old  man's 
gravity  gave  way  to  his  enjoyment  of  the  recol- 
lection, and  he  threw  back  his  head  to  laugh.  "  He 
sho'  did,  honey !  Uhuh !  Ho,  ho,  ho !  He  sho'  did, 
honey,  he  sho'  did !  " 

Nevertheless,  as  he  lifted  the  tray  again  and 
crossed  the  room  to  go,  his  solemnity  returned. 
"  Missy,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  ef  dat  young  gelmun 
fall  in  love  wid  you,  w'ich  I  knows  he  will  ef  he 
ketch  sight  er  you,  lemme  say  dis,  an*  please  fo* 
to  ba'h  in  mine:  better  have  nuttin'  do  wid  him 
'tall,  fo'  he  own  sake;  an*  'bove  all,  keep  him  fur 
'way  fum  dese  p'emises.  Don'  let  him  come  in  a 
mild  er  dis  house." 

"  Nelson,  was  that  all  the  quarrel  between 
them?" 

"Blessed  Mussy!  ain'  dat  'nough?  Ef  dey's 
any  mo'  I  ain'  hearn  what  dat  part  were,"  he  an- 
swered quickly,  but  with  a  dogged  tightening  of 
the  lips  which  convinced  Miss  Betty  that  he  knew 
very  well. 

"  Nelson,  what  was  the  rest  of  it?  " 

"  Please,  Missy,  I  got  pack  yo'  pa  trunk ;  an* 
[145] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

it  time,  long  ago,  fer  me  to  be  at  my  wu'k."     H« 
was  half  out  of  the  door. 

"  What  was  the  rest  of  it?  "  she  repeated  quietly, 
"  Now,  honey,"  he  returned  with  a  deprecatory 
shake  of  his  head,  "  I  got  my  own  wu'k  'tend  to } 
an*  I  ain't  nevah  ax  nobody  what  'twas,  an'  1 
ain't  goin'  ax  'em.  An'  lemme  jass  beg  you  f oiler 
de  ole  man's  advice:  you  do  de  same,  'case  nobody 
ain't  goin'  tell  you.  All  I  know  is  dat  it  come 
later  and  were  somep'n  'bout  dat  riprarin  Crailey 
Gray.  Yo'  pa  he  sent  a  channelge  to  Mist'  Van- 
revel,  an'  Mist'  Vanrevel  'fuse  to  fight  him  'case 
he  say  he  don'  b'lieve  shootin'  yo'  pa  goin'  do  yo' 
pa  any  good,  an'  he  still  got  hope  mekkin'  good 
citizen  outer  him.  Dat  brung  de  laff  on  yo'  pa 
ag'in;  an'  he  'clare  to  God  ef  he  ketch  Vanrevel 
on  any  groun'  er  hisn  he  shoot  him  like  a  mad  dog. 
'Pon  my  livin'  soul  he  mean  dem  wuds,  Missy !  Dey 
had  hard  'nough  time  las'  night  keepin'  him  fum 
teahin'  dat  man  to  pieces  at  de  fiah.  You  mus* 
keep  dat  young  gelmun  'way  fum  heah !  " 

"  He  came  home  with  me  last  night,  Nelson;  I 
told  father  so." 

[146] 


A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 
"  Yes'm.     Yo'  pa  tole  me  you  say  dat,  but  he 
reckon    you   done    it   to   mek    him   madder,    'case 
you  mad,  too.     He  say  he  done  see  dat  Crailey 
Gray  comin'  'long  de  hedge  wid  you." 

"  He  was  mistaken,  it  was  Mr.  Vanrevel." 
Nelson  rolled  his  eyes  fervently  to  heaven.  "  Den 
dat  young  man  run  pintedly  on  he  death !  Ef  you 
want  keep  us  all  dis  side  er  de  Jawdan  Rivuh,  don' 
let  him  set  foot  in  dis  neighbo'hood  when  yo'  pa 
come  back!  An',  honey — "  his  voice  sank  to  a 
penetrating  whisper — "  'fo'  I  do  a  lick  er  wu'k  I 
goin'  out  in  de  stable  an'  git  down  on  my  knees 
an'  retu'n  thanksgiving  to  de  good  God  'case 
he  hole  Carewe  Street  in  de  dahkness  las' 
night!" 

This  was  the  speech  he  chose  for  his  exit,  but, 
after  closing  the  door  behind  him,  he  opened  it 
again,  and  said,  cheerfully: 

"  Soon's  I  git  de  trunk  fix  f '  yo'  pa,  I  bring 
'roun'  dat  bay  colt  wid  de  side  saddle.     You  better 
set  'bout  gittin'  on  yo'  ridin'-habit,  Missy.      De 
roads  is  mighty  good  dis  sunshiny  wedduh." 
"  Nelson?  " 

[147] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

"Yes'm." 

"  Do  you  think  such  an  attack  as  ttrthur  /*»d  this 
morning — is — dangerous  ?  " 

He  had  hoped  for  another  chance  to  laugh  vio- 
lently before  he  left  her,  and  this  -completely  fitted 
his  desire.  "Ho,  ho,  ho!"  he  shouted.  "  No'm, 
no,  no,  honey!  He  jass  git  so  mad  it  mek  him 
sick.  You  couldn'  kill  dat  man  wid  a  broad-ax, 
Missy!" 

And  he  went  down  the  hall  leaving  the  reverber- 
ations of  his  hilarity  behind  him.  The  purpose  of 
his  visit  had  been  effected,  for,  when  Miss  Betty 
appeared  upon  the  horse-block  in  her  green  habit 
and  gauntlets,  she  was  smiling;  so  that  only  a 
woman — or  a  wise  old  man — could  have  guessed 
that  she  had  wept  bitterly  that  morning. 

She  cantered  out  to  the  flat,  open  country  to  the 
east,  where  she  found  soft  dirt-roads  that  were 
good  for  the  bay  colt's  feet,  and  she  reached  a 
cross-road  several  miles  from  town  before  she 
was  overcome  by  the  conviction  that  she  was  a 
wicked  and  ungrateful  girl.  She  could  not  place 
the  exact  spot  of  her  guilt,  but  she  knew  it  was 
[148] 


A  Tale  of  a  Political:  Difference 
there,  somewhere,  since  she  felt  herself  a  guilty 
thing. 

For  the  picture  which  Nelson  had  drawn  rose 
before  her :  the  one  man  standing  alone  in  his  rage 
on  the  platform,  overwhelmed  by  his  calm  young 
adversary,  beaten  and  made  the  butt  of  laughter 
for  a  thousand.  Her  father  had  been  in  the 
wrong  in  that  quarrel,  and  somehow  she  was 
sure,  too,  he  must  have  been  wrong  in  the  "  per- 
sonal "  one,  as  well :  the  mysterious  difficulty  over 
Fanchon's  Mr.  Gray,  who  had  looked  so  ashamed 
last  night.  What  feud  could  they  make  over  him, 
of  all  people  in  the  world?  He  looked  strong 
enough  to  take  care  of  his  own  quarrels,  even  if 
he  was  so  rigorously  bound  by  Fanchon's  apron- 
string  when  it  came  to  a  word  with  another 
girl! 

But  the  conclusion  that  her  father  had  been  in 
error  did  not  lessen  the  pathetic  appeal  of  the  soli- 
tary figure  facing  the  ridicule  of  the  crowd.  She 
felt  that  he  always  honestly  believed  himself 
in  the  right;  she  knew  that  he  was  vain;  that 
he  had  an  almost  monstrous  conception  of  his 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

Hignity;  and,  realizing  the  bitterness  of  that 
public  humiliation  which  he  had  undergone,  she 
understood  the  wrath,  the  unspeakable  pain 
and  sense  of  outrage,  which  must  have  possessed 
him. 

And  now  she  was  letting  him  go  forth  upon  a 
journey — his  way  beset  with  the  chances  of  illness 
and  accident — whence  he  might  never  return;  she 
was  letting  him  go  without  seeing  him  again; 
letting  him  go  with  no  word  of  farewell  from  his 
daughter.  In  brief:  she  was  a  wicked  girl.  She 
turned  the  colt's  head  abruptly  to  the  west  and 
touched  his  flanks  with  her  whip. 

So  it  fell  out  that  as  the  packet  foamed  its  pas- 
sage backward  from  Carewe's  wharf  into  the  cur- 
rent, the  owner  of  the  boat,  standing  upon  the  hur- 
ricane deck,  heard  a  cry  from  the  shore,  and  turned 
to  behold  his  daughter  dash  down  to  the  very  end 
of  the  wharf  on  the  well-lathered  colt.  Miss  Betty's 
hair  was  blown  about  her  face;  her  cheeks  were 
rosy,  her  eager  eyes  sparkling  from  more  than 
the  hard  riding. 

"  Papa !  "  she  cried,  "  I'm  sorry!  " 
[150] 


A  Tale  of  a  Political  Difference 

She  leaned  forward  out  of  the  saddle,  extending 
her  arms  to  him  appealingly  in  a  charming  gest- 
ure, and,  absolutely  ignoring  the  idlers  on  the 
wharf  and  the  passengers  on  the  steamer,  was 
singly  intent  upon  the  tall  figure  on  the  hur- 
ricane-deck. "  Papa — good-by.  Please  forgive 
me!" 

"By  the  Almighty,  but  that's  a  fine  woman!" 
said  the  captain  of  the  boat  to  a  passenger  from 
Rouen.  "  Is  she  his  daughter?  " 

"  Please  forgive  me ! "  the  clear  voice  came 
again,  with  its  quaver  of  entreaty,  across  the  wid- 
ening water;  and  then,  as  Mr.  Carewe  made  no 
sign,  by  word  or  movement,  of  hearing  her,  and 
stood  without  the  slightest  alteration  of  his  atti- 
tude, she  cried  to  him  once  more: 

"Good-by!" 

The  paddle-wheels  reversed;  the  boat  swung 
down  the  river,  Mr.  Carewe  still  standing  immova- 
ble on  the  hurricane-deck,  while,  to  the  gaze  of 
those  on  the  steamer,  the  figure  on  the  bay  colt  at 
the  end  of  the  wharf  began  to  grow  smaller  and 
smaller.  She  was  waving  her  handkerchief  in  fare- 
[151] 


The  Two  Vanrevel* 

wefl,  and  they  could  see  the  little  white  speck  in  the 
distance,  dimmer  and  dimmer,  yet  fluttering  still  as 
they  passed  out  of  sight  round  the  bend  nearly 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  below. 


CHAPTER  IX 
The  Rule  of  the  Regent 

BETTY  never  forgot  her  first  sight  of  the 
old  friend  of  her  family.  Returning  with 
a  sad  heart,  she  was  walking  the  -olt  slowly 
through  the  carriage-gates,  when  an  extravagantly 
stout  lady,  in  green  muslin  illustrated  with  huge 
red  flowers,  came  out  upon  the  porch  and  waved 
a  fat  arm  to  the  girl.  The  visitor  wore  a  dark- 
green  turban  and  a  Cashmere  shawl,  while  the  ex- 
panse of  her  skirts  was  nothing  short  of  magnifi- 
cent :  some  cathedral-dome  seemed  to  have  been  mis- 
placed and  the  lady  dropped  into  it.  Her  out- 
stretched hand  terrified  Betty:  how  was  she  to 
approach  near  enough  to  take  it? 

Mrs.   Tanberry  was  about  sixty,  looked  forty, 

and  at  first  you  might  have  guessed  she  weighed 

nearly  three  hundred,  but  the  h'ghtness  of  her  smile 

and  the  actual  buoyancy  which  she  somehow  im- 

|[153J 


The  Two  Vanrevek 

parted  to  her  whole  dominion  lessened  that  by  at 
least  a  hundred-weight.  She  ballooned  out  to  the 
horse-block  with  a  billowy  rush  somewhere  between 
bounding  and  soaring;  and  Miss  Betty  slid  down 
from  the  colt,  who  shied  violently,  to  find  herself 
enveloped,  in  spite  of  the  dome,  in  a  vast  surf  of 
green  and  red  muslin. 

"  My  charming  girl !  "  exclaimed  the  lady  vehe- 
mently, in  a  voice  of  such  husky  richness,  of  such 
merriment  and  unction  of  delight,  that  it  fell  upon 
Miss  Betty's  ear  with  more  of  the  quality  of  sheer 
gayety  than  any  she  had  ever  heard.  "  Beautiful 
child !  What  a  beautiful  child  you  are !  " 

She  kissed  the  girl  resoundingly  on  both  cheeks ; 
stepped  back  from  her  and  laughed,  and  clapped 
her  fat  hands,  which  were  covered  with  flash- 
ing rings.  "  Oh,  but  you  are  a  true  blue 
Beauty !  You're  a  Princess !  I  am  Mrs.  Tanberry, 
Jane  Tanberry,  young  Janie  Tanberry.  I 
haven't  seen  you  since  you  were  a  baby  and  your 
pretty  mother  was  a  girl  like  us !  " 

"  You  are  so  kind  to  come,"  said  Betty  hesitat- 
ingly.    "  I  shall  try  to  be  very  obedient." 
[154] 


The  Rule  of  tie  Regent 

"Obedient!"  Mrs.  Tanberry  uttered  the  word 
with  a  shriek.  "  You'll  be  nothing  of  the  kind.  I 
am  the  light-mindedest  woman  in  the  universe,  and 
anyone  who  obeyed  me  would  be  embroiled  in  ever- 
lasting trouble  every  second  in  the  day.  You'll  j 
find  that  I  am  the  one  that  needs  looking  after,  my 
charmer ! " 

She  tapped  Miss  Betty's  cheek  with  her  jew- 
elled fingers  as  the  two  mounted  the  veranda 
steps.  "  It  will  be  worry  enough  for  you  to  obey 
yourself ;  a  body  sees  that  at  the  first  blush.  You 
have  conscience  in  your  forehead  and  rebellion  in 
your  chin.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! "  Here  Mrs.  Tanberry 
sat  upon,  and  obliterated,  a  large  chair,  Miss  Ca- 
rewe  taking  a  stool  at  her  knee. 

"  People  of  our  age  oughtn't  to  be  bothered 
with  obeying;  there'll  be  time  enough  for  that 
when  we  get  old  and  can't  enjoy  anything.  Ha, 
ha!" 

Mrs.  Tanberry  punctuated  her  observations  with 

short   volleys    of   husky    laughter,   so   abrupt   in 

both    discharge    and    cessation    that,    until    Miss 

Betty  became  accustomed  to  the  habit,  she    was 

[155] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

apt  to  start  slightly  at  each  salvo.  "  I  had  a  hus- 
band— once,"  the  lady  resumed,  "  but  only  once, 
my  friend!  He  had  ideas  like  your  father's — 
your  father  is  such  an  imbecile! — and  he  thought 
that  wives,  sisters,  daughters,  and  such  like 
ought  to  be  obedient:  that  is,  the  rest  of  the 
world  was  wrong  unless  it  was  right;  and 
right  was  just  his  own  little,  teeny-squeeny  preju- 
dices and  emotions  dressed  up  for  a  crazy  mas- 
querade as  Facts.  Poor  man!  He  only  lasted 
about  a  year ! "  And  Mrs.  Tanberry  laughed 
heartily. 

"  They've  been  at  me  time  and  again  to  take  an- 
other." She  lowered  her  voice  and  leaned  toward 
Betty  confidentially.  "Not  I!  I'd  be  wiUing  to 
engage  myself  to  Crailey  Gray  (though  Crailey 
hasn't  got  round  to  me  yet)  for  I  don't  mind  just 
being  engaged,  my  dear;  but  they'll  have  to 
invent  something  better  than  a  man  before  I 
marry  any  one  of  'em  again !  But  I  love  'em,  I  do, 
the  Charming  Billies!  And  you'll  see  how  they 
follow  me ! "  She  patted  the  girl's  shoulder,  her 
small  eyes  beaming  quizzically.  "We'll  have 


The  Rule  of  the  Regent 

the  gayest  house  in  Rouen,  ladybird!  The 
young  men  all  go  to  the  Bareauds',  but  they'll 
come  here  now,  and  we'll  have  the  Bareauds 
along  with  'em.  I've  been  away  a  long  time, 
just  finished  unpacking  yesterday  night  when 
your  father  came  in  after  the  fire — Whoo! 
what  a  state  he  was  in  with  that  devilish  temper  of 
his!  Didn't  I  snap  him  up  when  he  asked  me  to 
come  and  stay  with  you  ?  Ha,  ha !  I'd  have  come, 
even  if  you  hadn't  been  beautiful ;  but  I  was  wild 
to  be  your  playmate,  for  I'd  heard  nothing  but 
*  Miss  Betty  Carewe,  Miss  Betty  Carewe '  from 
everybody  I  saw,  since  the  minute  my  stage  came 
in.  You  set  'em  all  mad  at  your  ball,  and  I  knew 
we'd  make  a  glorious  house-full,  you  and  I !  Some 
of  the  vagabonds  will  turn  up  this  very  evening, 
you'll  see  if  they  don't.  Ha,  ha !  The  way  they 
follow  me ! " 

Mrs.  Tanberry  was  irresistible:  she  filled  the 
whole  place  otherwise  than  by  the  mere  material 
voluminousness  of  her ;  bubbling  over  with  froth  of 
nonsense  which  flew  through  the  house,  driven  by 
her  energy,  like  sea-foam  on  a  spring  gale;  and 
[157] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

the  day,  so  discordantly  begun  for  Miss  Betty, 
grew  musical  with  her  own  laughter,  answer- 
ing the  husky  staccato  of  the  vivacious  new- 
comer. Nelson  waited  upon  them  at  table,  radiant, 
his  smile  like  the  keyboard  of  an  ebony  piano,  and 
his  disappearances  into  the  kitchen  were  accom- 
plished by  means  of  a  surreptitious  double-shuffle, 
and  followed  by  the  cachinnating  echoes  of  the 
vain  Mamie's  reception  of  the  visitor's  sallies, 
which  Nelson  hastily  retailed  in  passing. 

Nor  was  Mrs.  Tanberry's  prediction  allowed  to 
go  unfulfilled  regarding  the  advent  of  those  per- 
sons whom  she  had  designated  as  vagabonds.  It 
may  have  been  out  of  deference  to  Mr.  Carewe's 
sense  of  decorum  (or  from  a  cautious  regard  of 
what  he  was  liable  to  do  when  he  considered  that 
sense  outraged)  that  the  gallants  of  Rouen  had 
placed  themselves  under  the  severe  restraint  of  al- 
lowing three  days  to  elapse  after  their  introduction 
to  Miss  Carewe  before  they  "  paid  their  respects 
at  the  house ;"  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  the  dictator 
was  now  safely  under  way  down  the  Rouen  River, 
and  Mrs.  Tanberry  reigned  in  his  stead.  Thus,  at 
[158] 


The  Rule  of  the  Regent 

about  eight  o'clock  that  evening,  the  two  ladies  sat 
in  the  library  engaged  in  conversation — though, 
for  the  sake  of  accuracy,  it  should  be  said  that 
Mrs.  Tanberry  was  engaged  in  conversation,  Miss 
Betty  in  giving  ear — when  their  attention  was 
arrested  by  sounds  of  a  somewhat  musical  nat- 
ure from  the  lawn,  which  sounds  were  imme- 
diately identified  as  emanating  from  a  flute  and 
violin. 

Mrs.  Tanberry  bounded  across  the  room  like  a 
public  building  caught  by  a  cyclone,  and,  dashing 
at  the  candles,  "  Blow  'em  out,  blow  'em  out !  "  she 
exclaimed,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word  in  a  flus- 
ter of  excitement. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Miss  Carewe,  startled,  as  she 
rose  to  her  feet.  The  candles  were  out  before  the 
question. 

"  Why !  "  repeated  the  merry,  husky  voice  in  the 
darkness.  "  My  goodness,  child  precious,  those 
vagabonds  are  here !  To  think  of  your  never  hav- 
ing been  serenaded  before !  " 

She  drew  the  girl  to  the  window  and  pointed  to 
a  group  of  dim  figures  near  the  lilac  bushes.  "  The 
£1*9] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

dear,  delightful  vagabonds !  "  she  chuckled.  "  I 
knew  they'd  come !  It's  the  beautiful  Tappingham 
Marsh  with  his  fiddle,  and  young  Jeff  Bareaud 
with  his  flute,  and  'Gene  Madrillon  and  little  Frank 
Chenowith  and  thin  Will  Cummings  to  sing.  Hark 
to  the  rascals !  " 

It  is  perfectly  truthful  to  say  that  the  violin  and 
flute  executed  the  prelude,  and  then  the  trio 
sounded  full  on  the  evening  air,  the  more  effective 
chords  obligingly  drawn  out  as  long  as  the  breath 
in  the  singers  could  hold  them,  in  order  to  allow 
the  two  fair  auditors  complete  benefit  of  the  har- 
mony. They  sang  "  The  Harp  that  Once  Thro' 
Tara's  Halls,"  and  followed  it  with  "  Long,  Long 
Ago." 

"That,"  Mrs.  Tanberry  whispered,  between 
stifled  gusts  of  almost  uncontrollable  laughter,  "  is 
meant  for  just  me!  " 

"  Tell  me  the  tales  that  to  me  were  so  dear"  en- 
treated the  trio. 

"I  told  'em  plenty!"  gurgled  the  enlivening 
widow.  "  And  I  expect  between  us  we  can  get  up 
some  more." 

[160J 


The  Rule  of  the  Regent 
"  Now  you  are  come  my  grief  is  removed,"  they 

sang. 

"  They  mean  your  father  is  on  his  way  to  St. 

Louis,"  remarked  Mrs.  Tanberry. 

**  Let  me  forget  that  so  long  you  have  roved, 
Let  me  believe  that  you  love  as  you  loved, 
Long,  long  ago,  long  ago.n 

"Applaud,  applaud!"  whispered  Mrs.  Tan- 
berry,  encouraging  the  minstrels  by  a  hearty  clap- 
ping of  hands. 

Hereupon  dissension  arose  among  the  quintette, 
evidently  a  dispute  in  regard  to  their  next  selec- 
tion; one  of  the  gentlemen  appearing  more  than 
merely  to  suggest  a  solo  by  himself,  while  the  oth- 
ers too  frankly  expressed  adverse  opinions  upon 
the  value  of  the  offering.  The  argument  became 
heated,  and  in  spite  of  many  a  "  Sh ! "  and  "  Not 
so  loud !  "  the  ill-suppressed  voice  of  the  intending 
soloist,  Mr.  Chenoweth,  could  be  heard  vehemently 
to  exclaim :  "  I  will !  I  learned  it  especially  for 
this  occasion.  I  will  sing  it !  " 

His  determination,  patently,  was  not  to  be  balked 
without  physical  encounter,  consequently  he  was 
[161] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

permitted  to  advance  some  paces  from  the  lilac 
bushes,  where  he  delivered  himself,  in  an  earnest 
and  plaintive  tenor,  of  the  following  morbid  in- 
structions, to  which  the  violin  played  an  obligato 
in  tremulo,  so  execrable,  and  so  excruciatingly  dis- 
cordant, that  Mr.  Chenoweth's  subsequent  charge 
that  it  was  done  with  a  deliberately  evil  intention 
could  never  be  successfully  opposed: 

"  Go  t    Forget  me  !     Why  should  Sorrow 

O'er  that  brow  a  shadow  fling  ? 
Go  I  Forget  me,  and,  to-morrow, 
Brightly  smile  and  sweetly  sing  ! 

Smile  I  tho'  I  may  not  be  near  thee; 
Smile  I  thd1 1  may  never  see  thee  ; 
May  thy  soul  with  pleasure  shine 
Lasting  as  this  gloom  of  mine  t " 

Miss  Carewe  complied  at  once  with  the  re- 
quest; while  her  companion,  unable  to  stop  with 
the  slight  expression  of  pleasure  demanded  by  the 
songster,  threw  herself  upon  a  sofa  and  gave  way 
to  the  mirth  that  consumed  her. 

Then  the  candles  were  relit,  the  serenaders  in- 
vited within;  Nelson  came  bearing  cake  and  wine, 


The  Rule  of  the  Regent 

and  the  house  was  made  merry.  Presently,  the 
romp,  Virginia  Bareaud,  making  her  appearance 
on  the  arm  of  General  Trumble,  Mrs.  Tanberry 
led  them  all  in  a  hearty  game  of  Blind-man's  Buff, 
followed  by  as  hearty  a  dancing  of  Dan  Tucker. 
After  that,  a  quadrille  being  proposed,  Mrs.  Tan- 
berry  suggested  that  Jefferson  should  run  home 
and  bring  Fanchon  for  the  fourth  lady.  However, 
Virginia  explained  that  she  had  endeavored  to  per- 
suade both  her  sister  and  Mr.  Gray  to  accompany 
the  General  and  herself,  but  that  Mr.  Gray  had 
complained  of  indisposition,  having  suffered  great- 
ly from  headache,  on  account  of  inhaling  so  much 
smoke  at  the  warehouse  fire;  and,  of  course,  Fan- 
chon would  not  leave  him.  (Miss  Carewe  permit- 
ted herself  the  slightest  shrug  of  the  shoulders.) 

So  they  danced  the  quadrille  with  Jefferson  at 
the  piano  and  Mr.  Marsh  performing  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  lady,  a  proceeding  most  unacceptable 
to  the  General,  whom  Mrs.  Tanberry  forced  to  be 
his  partner.  And  thus  the  evening  passed  gayly 
away,  and  but  too  quickly,  to  join  the  ghosts  of  all 
the  other  evenings  since  time  began;  and  each  of 
[163] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

the  little  company  had  added  a  cheerful  sprite  to 
the  long  rows  of  those  varied  shades  that  the  after 
years  bring  to  revisit  us,  so  many  with  pathetic  re- 
proach, so  many  bearing  a  tragic  burden  of  faces 
that  we  cannot  make  even  to  weep  again,  and  so 
few  with  simple  merriment  and  lightheartedness. 
Tappingham  Marsh  spoke  the  truth,  indeed,  when 
he  exckimed  in  parting,  "O  rare  Mrs.  Tan- 
berry!" 

But  the  house  had  not  done  with  serenades  that 
night.  The  guests  had  long  since  departed;  the 
windows  were  still  and  dark  under  the  wan  old 
moon,  which  had  risen  lamely,  looking  unfamiliar 
and  not  half  itself ;  the  air  bore  an  odor  of  lateness, 
and  nothing  moved ;  when  a  delicate  harmony  stole 
out  of  the  shadows  beyond  the  misty  garden.  Low 
but  resonant  chords  sounded  on  the  heavier  strings 
of  a  guitar,  while  above  them,  upon  the  lighter 
wires,  rippled  a  slender,  tinkling  melody  that  wooed 
the  slumberer  to  a  delicious  half-wakefulness, 
as  dreamily,  as  tenderly,  as  the  croon  of  rain  on 
the  roof  soothes  a  child  to  sleep.  Under  the  ar- 
tist's cunning  touch  the  instrument  was  both  the 
[164] 


The  Rule  of  the  Regent 

accompaniment  and  the  song;  and  Miss  Betty,  at 
first  taking  the  music  to  be  a  wandering  thread  in 
the  fabric  of  her  own  bright  dreams,  drifted  grad- 
ually to  consciousness  to  find  herself  smiling.  Her 
eyes  opened  wide,  but  half  closed  again  with  the 
ineffable  sweetness  of  the  sound. 

Then  a  voice  was  heard,  eerily  low,  yet  gallant 
and  clear,  a  vibrant  baritone,  singing  to  the 
glut*./. 

«« My  lady's  hair, 

That  dark  delight, 
Is  both  as  fair 

And  dusk  as  night. 
I  know  some  lovelorn  hearts  that  beat 
In  time  to  moonbeam  twinklings  fleet, 
That  dance  and  glance  like  jewels  there, 
Emblazoning  the  raven  hair  I 

"  Ah,  raven  hair  ! 

So  dark  and  bright, 
What  loves  lie  there 

Enmeshed,  to-night? 
I  know  some  sighing  lads  that  say 
Their  hearts  were  snared  and  torn  away  ; 
And  now  as  pearls  one  fate  they  share, 
Entangled  in  the  raven  hair. 
[165] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

"  Ah,  raven  hair, 

From  such  a  plight 
Could  you  not  spare 

One  acolyte  ? 

I  know  a  broken  heart  that  went 
To  serve  you  but  as  ornament. 
Alas!  a  ruby  now  you  wear, 
Ensanguining  the  raven  hair  I " 

The  song  had  grown  fainter  and  fainter,  the 
singer  moving  away  as  he  sang,  and  the  last  lines 
were  almost  inaudible  in  the  distance.  The  guitar 
could  be  heard  for  a  moment  or  two  more,  then 
silence  came  again.  It  was  broken  by  a  rustling  in 
the  room  next  to  Miss  Betty's,  and  Mrs.  Tanberry 
called  softly  through  the  open  door : 

"  Princess,  are  you  awake?  Did  you  hear  that 
serenade?  " 

After  a  pause  the  answer  came  hesitatingly  in 
a  small,  faltering  voice :  "  Yes — if  it  was  one.  I 
thought  perhaps  he  was  only  singing  as  he  passed 
along  the  street." 

"  Aha! "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Tanberry,  abruptly, 
as  though  she  had  made  an  unexpected  discovery. 
"  You  knew  better ;  and  this  was  a  serenade  that 
[166] 


The  Rule  of  the  Regent 

you  did  not  laugh  at.  Beautiful,  I  wouldn't  let 
it  go  any  farther,  even  while  your  father  is  gone. 
Something  might  occur  that  would  bring  him  home 
without  warning — such  things  have  happened. 
Tom  Vanrevel  ought  to  be  kept  far  away  from 
this  house." 

"Oh,  it  was  not  he,"  returned  Miss  Betty, 
quickly.  "  It  was  Mr.  Gray.  Didn't  you " 

"  My  dear,"  interrupted  the  other,  "  Crailey 
Gray's  specialty  is  talking.  Most  of  the  vaga- 
bonds can  sing  and  play  a  bit,  and  so  can  Crailey, 
particularly  when  he's  had  a  few  bowls  of  punch; 
but  when  Tom  Vanrevel  touches  the  guitar  and 
lifts  up  his  voice  to  sing,  there  isn't  an  angel  in 
heaven  that  wouldn't  quit  the  place  and  come  to 
hear  him!  Crailey  wrote  those  words  to  Virginia 
Bareaud.  (Her  hair  is  even  darker  than  yours, 
you  know.)  That  was  when  he  was  being  engaged 
to  her;  and  Tom  must  have  set  the  music  to  'em 
lately,  and  now  comes  here  to  sing  'em  to  you ;  and 
well  enough  they  fit  you !  But  you  must  keep  him 
away,  Princess." 

Nevertheless,  Betty  knew  the  voice  was  not  that 
[167] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

which  had  bid  her  look  to  the  stars,  and  she  re- 
mained convinced  that  it  belonged  to  Mr.  Crailey 
Gray,  who  had  been  too  ill,  a  few  hours  earlier,  to 
leave  the  Bareaud  house,  and  now,  with  Fanchon's 
kisses  on  his  lips,  came  stealing  into  her  garden  and 
sang  to  her  a  song  he  had  made  for  another  girl ! 

And  the  angels  would  leave  heaven  to  listen  when 
he  sang,  would  they?  Poor  Fanchon!  No  wonder 
she  held  him  so  tightly  in  leading  strings !  He 
might  risk  his  life  all  he  wished  at  the  end  of  a 
grappling-ladder,  dangling  in  a  fiery  cloud  above 
nothing;  but  when  it  came  to — ah,  well,  poor 
Fanchon!  Did  she  invent  the  headaches  for  him, 
or  did  she  make  him  invent  them  for  himself? 

If  there  was  one  person  in  the  world  whom 
Miss  Betty  held  in  bitter  contempt  and  scorn,  it 
was  the  owner  of  that  voice  and  that  guitar. 


[168] 


CHAPTER  X 

Echoes  of  a  Serenade 

MORE  than  three  gentlemen  of  Rouen  wore 
their  hearts  in  their  eyes  for  any  fool  to 
gaze  upon ;  but  three  was  the  number  of 
those  who  told  their  love  before  the  end  of  the  first 
week  of  Mr.  Carewe's  absence,  and  told  it  in  spite 
of  Mrs.  Tanberry's  utmost  effort  to  preserve,  at  all 
times,  a  conjunction  between  herself  and  Miss 
Betty.  For  the  good  lady,  foreseeing  these  declara- 
tions much  more  surely  than  did  the  subject  of 
them,  wished  to  spare  her  lovely  charge  the  pain 
of  listening  to  them. 

Miss  Carewe  honored  each  of  the  lorn  three  with 
4  few  minutes  of  gravity;  but  the  gentle  refusal 
prevented  never  a  swain  from  being  as  truly  her 
follower  as  before;  not  that  she  resorted  to  the 
poor  device  of  half-dismissal,  the  every-day  method 
of  the  school-girl  flirt,  who  thus  keeps  the  lads  in 
[169] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

dalliance,  but  because,  even  for  the  rejected,  it  was 
a  delight  to  be  near  her.  For  that  matter,  it  is 
said  that  no  one  ever  had  enough  of  the  mere  look- 
ing at  her.  Also,  her  talk  was  enlivening  even  to 
the  lively,  being  spiced  with  surprising  turns  and 
amiably  seasoned  with  the  art  of  badinage.  To 
use  the  phrase  of  the  time,  she  possessed  the  accom- 
plishments, an  antiquated  charm  now  on  the 
point  of  disappearing,  so  carefully  has  it  been 
snubbed  under  whenever  exhibited.  The  pursuing 
wraith  of  the  young,  it  comes  to  sit,  a  ghost  at 
every  banquet,  driving  the  flower  of  our  youth  to 
unheard-of  exertions  in  search  of  escape,  to  dubious 
diplomacy,  to  dismal  inaction,  or  to  wine ;  yet  time 
was  when  they  set  their  hearts  on  "  the  ac- 
complishments." 

Miss  Betty  Care  we  at  her  harp,  ah!  it  was  a 
dainty  picture:  the  clear  profile,  with  the  dark 
hair  low  across  the  temple,  silhouetted  duskily,  in 
the  cool,  shadowy  room,  against  the  open  window; 
the  slender  figure,  one  arm  curving  between  you  and 
the  strings,  the  other  gleaming  behind  them;  the 
delicate  little  sandal  stealing  from  the  white  froth 
[170] 


Echoes  of  a  Serenade 

of  silk  and  lace  to  caress  the  pedal;  the  nimble 
hands  fluttering  across  the  long  strands,  "  Like 
white  blossoms  borne  on  slanting  lines  of  rain;" 
and  the  great  gold  harp  rising  to  catch  a  javelin 
of  sunshine  that  pierced  the  vines  at  the  window 
where  the  honeysuckles  swung  their  skirts  to  the  re- 
frain— it  was  a  picture  to  return  many  a  long  year 
afterward,  and  thrill  the  reveries  of  old  men  who 
were  then  young.  And,  following  the  light  cas- 
cading ripples  of  the  harp,  when  her  low  contralto 
lifted  in  one  of  the  "  old  songs,"  she  often  turned 
inquiringly  to  see  if  the  listener  liked  the  music,  and 
her  brilliant,  dark  eyes  would  rest  on  his  with  an 
appeal  that  blinded  his  entranced  soul.  She 
meant  it  for  the  mere  indication  of  a  friendly 
wish  to  suit  his  tastes,  but  it  looked  like  the  divine 
humility  of  love.  Nobody  wondered  that  Gen- 
eral Trumble  should  fall  to  verse-making  in  his 
old  age. 

She  sketched  magnificently.      This  is  the  very 

strongest  support  for  the  assertion :     Frank  Chen- 

oweth  and  Tappingham  Marsh  agreed,  with  tears 

of  enthusiasm,  that  "  magnificently  "  was  the  only 

[171] 


The  Two  Vanrevds 

word.  They  came  to  this  conclusion  as  they  sat 
together  at  the  end  of  a  long  dinner  (at  which  very 
little  had  been  eaten)  after  a  day's  picnic  by  the 
river.  Miss  Carewe  had  been  of  their  company, 
and  Tappingham  and  Chenoweth  found  each  his 
opportunity  in  the  afternoon.  The  party  was 
small,  and  no  one  had  been  able  to  effect  a  total  un- 
consciousness of  the  manreuvres  of  the  two  gentle- 
men. Even  Fanchon  Bareaud  comprehended  lan- 
guidly, though  she  was  more  blurred  than  ever,  and 
her  far-away  eyes  belied  the  mechanical  vivacity  of 
her  manner,  for  Crailey  was  thirty  miles  down  the 
river,  with  a  fishing-rod  neatly  packed  in  a  leath- 
er case. 

Mr.  Vanrevel,  of  course,  was  not  invited ;  no  one 
would  have  thought  of  asking  him  to  join  a  small 
party  of  which  Robert  Carewe's  daughter  was  to 
be  a  member.  But  it  was  happiness  enough  for 
Tom,  that  night,  to  lie  hidden  in  the  shrubbery, 
looking  up  at  the  stars  between  the  leaves,  while  he 
listened  to  her  harp,  and  borne  through  the  open 
window  on  enchanted  airs,  the  voice  of  Elizabeth 
Carewe  singing  "  Robin  Adair." 
[172] 


Echoes  of  a  Serenade 

It  was  now  that  the  town  indulged  its  liveliest 
spirit;  never  an  evening  lacked  its  junketing,  while 
the  happy  folk  of  Rouen  set  the  early  summer  to 
music.  Serenade,  dance,  and  song  for  them,  the 
light-hearts,  young  and  old  making  gay  together! 
It  was  all  laughter,  either  in  sunshine  or  by  candle- 
light, undisturbed  by  the  far  thunder  below  the 
southern  horizon,  where  Zachary  Taylor  had  pitched 
his  tent,  upon  the  Rio  Grande. 

One  fair  evening,  soon  after  that  excursion  whicli 
had  proved  fatal  to  the  hopes  of  the  handsome  Tap- 
pingham  and  of  the  youthful  Chenoweth,  it  was 
the  privilege  of  Mr.  Thomas  Vanrevel  to  assist  Miss 
Carewe  and  her  chaperon  from  their  carriage,  as 
they  drove  up  to  a  dance  at  the  Bareauds'.  This 
good  fortune  fell  only  to  great  deserving,  for  he 
had  spent  an  hour  lurking  outside  the  house  in  the 
hope  of  performing  such  offices  for  them. 

Heaven  was  in  his  soul  and  the  breath  departed 
out  of  his  body,  when,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation, 
Miss  Betty's  little  lace-gauntleted  glove  was  placed 
in  his  hand,  and  her  white  slipper  shimmered 
out  from  the  lilac  flounces  of  her  dress  to  fall  like 
[17S] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

a  benediction,  he  thought,  on  each  of  the  carriage- 
steps. 

It  was  the  age  of  garlands ;  they  wreathed  the 
Muses,  the  Seasons,  and  their  speech,  so  the  women 
wore  wreaths  in  their  hair,  and  Miss  Betty's  that 
night  was  of  marguerites.  "  Read  your  fortune 
in  them  all,"  whispered  Tom's  heart,  "  and  of 
whomsoever  you  wish  to  learn,  every  petal  will 
say  *  He  loves  you ;  none  declare,  He  loves  you 
not!5" 

She  bowed  slightly,  but  did  not  speak  to  him, 
which  was  perhaps  a  better  reception  than  that  ac- 
corded the  young  man  by  her  companion.  "  Oh,  it's 
you,  is  it ! "  was  Mrs.  Tanberry's  courteous  obser- 
vation as  she  canted  the  vehicle  in  her  descent.  She 
looked  sharply  at  Miss  Betty,  and  even  the  small 
glow  of  the  carriage-lamps  showed  that  the  girl's 
cheeks  had  flushed  very  red.  Mr.  Vanrevel,  on  the 
contrary,  was  pale. 

They  stood  for  a  moment  in  awkward  silence, 
while,  from  the  lighted  house  where  the  flying  fig- 
ures circled,  came  the  waltz :  "  I  dreamt  that  I  dwe- 
helt   in   ma-har-ble    halls."      Tom's   own   dreams 
[174] 


Echoes  of  a  Serenade 

were  much  wilder  than  the  gypsy  girl's;  he  knew 
that ;  yet  he  spoke  out  bravely : 

"  Will  you  dance  the  two  first  with  me  ?  " 

Miss  Betty  bit  her  lip,  frowned,  turned  away, 
and,  vouchsafing  no  reply,  walked  toward  the  house 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground ;  but  just  as  they 
reached  the  door  she  flashed  over  him  a  look  that 
scorched  him  from  head  to  foot,  and  sent  his  spirits 
down  through  the  soles  of  his  boots  to  excavate 
a  grotto  in  the  depths  of  the  earth,  so  charged  it 
was  with  wrathful  pity  and  contempt. 

"  Yes! "  she  said  abruptly,  and  followed  Mrs. 
Tanberry  to  the  dressing-room. 

The  elder  lady  shook  her  head  solemnly  as  she 
emerged  from  the  enormous  folds  of  a  yellow  silk 
cloak.  "  Ah,  Princess,"  she  said,  touching  the  girl's 
shoulder  with  her  jewelled  hand,  "  I  told  you  I  was 
a  very  foolish  woman,  and  I  am,  but  not  so  foolish 
as  to  offer  advice  often.  Yet,  believe  me,  it  won't 
do.  I  think  that  is  one  of  the  greatest  young  men 
I  ever  knew,  and  it's  a  pity — but  it  won't  do." 

Miss  Betty  kept  her  face  away  from  her  guardian 
for  a  moment.    No  inconsiderable  amount  of  infor- 
(175] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

mation  had  drifted  to  her,  from  here  and  there,  re- 
garding the  career  of  Crailey  Gray,  and  she 
thought  how  intensely  she  would  have  hated  any 
person  in  the  world  except  Mrs.  Tanberry  for  pre- 
suming to  think  she  needed  to  be  warned  against  the 
charms  of  this  serenading  lady-killer,  who  was  the 
property  of  another  girl. 

"  You  must  keep  him  away,  I  think,"  ventured 
Mrs.  Tanberry,  gently. 

At  that  Betty  turned  to  her  and  said,  sharply : 
"  I  will.    After  this,  please  let  us  never  speak  of 
him  again." 

A  slow  nod  of  the  other's  turbaned  head  indi- 
cated the  gravest  acquiescence.  She  saw  that  her 
companion's  cheeks  were  still  crimson.  "  I  under- 
stand," said  she. 

A  buzz  of  whispering,  like  a  July  beetle,  fol- 
lowed Miss  Carewe  and  her  partner  about  the  room 
during  the  next  dance.  How  had  Tom  managed  it  ? 
Had  her  father  never  told  her?  Who  had  dared  to 
introduce  them?  Fanchon  was  the  only  one  who 
knew,  and  as  she  whirled  by  with  Will  Cum- 
mings,  she  raised  her  absent  glance  long  enough 
{176] 


Echoes  of  a  Serenade 

to  give  Tom  an  affectionate  and  warning  shake  of 
the  head. 

Tom  did  not  see  this;  Miss  Carewe  did.  Alas! 
She  smiled  upon  him  instantly  and  looked  deep 
into  his  eyes.  It  was  the  third  time. 

She  was  not  afraid  of  this  man-flirt;  he  was  to 
be  settled  with  once  and  forever.  She  intended  to 
avenge  both  Fanchon  and  herself;  yet  it  is  a 
hazardous  game,  this  piercing  of  eye  with  eye,  be- 
cause the  point  which  seeks  to  penetrate  may  soften 
and  melt,  leaving  one  defenceless.  For  perhaps, 
ten  seconds  that  straight  look  lasted,  while  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  read  clear  into  the  soul  of  him,  and 
to  behold  it,  through  some  befooling  magic,  as 
strong,  tender,  wise,  and  true,  as  his  outward  ap- 
pearance would  have  made  an  innocent  stranger  be- 
lieve him;  for  he  looked  all  these  things;  she  ad- 
mitted that  much ;  and  he  had  an  air  of  distinction 
and  resource  beyond  any  she  had  ever  known,  even 
in  the  wild  scramble  for  her  kitten  he  had  not  lost 
it.  So,  for  ten  seconds,  which  may  be  a  long 
time,  she  saw  a  man  such  as  she  had  dreamed,  and 
she  did  not  believe  her  sight,  because  she  had  no 
[177  I 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

'desire  to  be  as  credulous  as  the  others,  to  be  as 
easily  cheated  as  that  poor  Fanchon! 

The  luckless  Tom  found  his  own  feet  beautiful 
on  the  mountains,  and,  treading  the  heights  with 
airy  steps,  appeared  to  himself  wonderful  and 
glorified — he  was  waltzing  with  Miss  Betty! 
He  breathed  the  entrancing  words  to  himself,  over 
and  over:  it  was  true,  he  was  waltzing  with  Miss 
Betty  Carewe !  Her  glove  lay  warm  and  light  with- 
in his  own;  his  fingers  clasped  that  ineffable  lilac 
and  white  brocade  waist.  Sometimes  her  hair  came 
within  an  inch  of  his  cheek,  and  then  he  rose  out- 
right from  the  hilltops  and  floated  in  a  golden  mist. 
The  glamour  of  which  the  Incroyable  had  planned 
to  tell  her  some  day,  surrounded  Tom,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  the  whole  world  was  covered 
with  a  beautiful  light  like  a  carpet,  which  was  but 
the  radiance  of  this  adorable  girl  whom  his  gloves 
and  coat-sleeve  were  permitted  to  touch.  When 
the  music  stopped,  they  followed  in  the  train  of 
other  couples  seeking  the  coolness  of  out-of-doors 
for  the  interval,  and  Tom,  in  his  soul,  laughed  at 
all  other  men  with  illimitable  condescension. 
[178] 


Echoes  of  a  Serenade 

"  Stop  here,"  she  said,  as  they  reached  the 
open  gate.  He  was  walking  out  of  it,  his  head 
in  the  air,  and  Miss  Betty  on  his  arm.  Appar- 
ently, he  would  have  walked  straight  across  the 
State.  It  was  the  happiest  moment  he  had  ever 
known. 

He  wanted  to  say  something  wonderful  to  her; 
his  speech  should  be  like  the  music  and  glory  and 
fire  that  was  in  him ;  therefore  he  was  shocked  to 
hear  himself  remarking,  with  an  inanity  of  utter- 
ance that  sickened  him : 

"  Oh,  here's  the  gate,  isn't  it?  " 

Her  answer  was  a  short  laugh.  "  You  mean 
you  wish  to  persuade  me  that  you  had  forgotten 
it  was  there  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  see  it,"  he  protested,  lamentably. 

"No?" 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  it." 

"  Indeed !  You  were  '  lost  in  thoughts  of  ' " 

"  Of  you ! "  he  said,  before  he  could  check  him- 
self. 

"  Yes  ?  "  Her  tone  was  as  quietly  contemptuous 
as  she  could  make  it.  "  How  very  frank  of  you ! 
[179] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

May   I   ask:     Are   you   convinced  that    speeches 
of  that  sort  are  always  to  a  lady's  liking?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered  humbly,  and  hung  his  head. 
Then  she  threw  the  question  at  him  abruptly : 

"  Was  it  you  who  came  to  sing  in  our  garden  ?  " 

There  was  a  long  pause  before  a  profound 
sigh  came  tremulously  from  the  darkness,  like  a 
sad  and  tender  confession.  "  Yes." 

"I  thought  so!"  she  exclaimed.  "Mrs.  Tan- 
berry  thought  it  was  someone  else ;  but  I  knew  that 
it  was  you." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  It  was 
I.  It  was  my  only  way  to  tell  you  what  you  know 
now." 

"  Of  course ! "  She  set  it  all  aside  with  those 
two  words  and  the  slightest  gesture  of  her  hand. 
"  It  was  a  song  made  for  another  girl,  I  believe?  " 
she  asked  lightly,  and  with  an  icy  smile,  inquired 
farther :  "  For  the  one — the  one  before  the  last,  I 
understand  ?  " 

He  lifted  his  head,  surprised.     "  What  has  that 
to  do  with  it?     The  music  was  made  for  you — 
but  then,  I  think  all  music  was  made  for  you." 
[180] 


Echoes  of  a  Serenade 

"  Leave  the  music  out  of  it,  if  you  please,"  she 
said,  impatiently.  "  Your  talents  make  you  mod- 
est! No  doubt  you  consider  it  unmaidenly  in  me 
to  have  referred  to  the  serenade  before  you  spoke 
of  it ;  but  I  am  not  one  to  cast  down  my  eyes  and 
let  it  pass.  No,  nor  one  too  sweet  to  face  the 
truth,  either ! "  she  cried  with  sudden  passion. 
"  To  sing  that  song  in  the  way  you  did,  meant — 
oh,  you  thought  I  would  flirt  with  you!  What 
right  had  you  to  come  with  such  a  song  to 
me?" 

Tom  intended  only  to  disclaim  the  presumption, 
so  far  from  his  thoughts,  that  his  song  had  moved 
her,  for  he  could  see  that  her  attack  was  prompted 
by  her  inexplicable  impression  that  he  had  assumed 
the  attitude  of  a  conqueror,  but  his  explanation 
began  unfortunately. 

"  Forgive  me.  I  think  you  have  completely 
misunderstood;  you  thought  it  meant  something  I 
did  not  intend,  at  all,  and " 

"  What !  "  she  said,  and  her  eyes  blazed,  for  now 
she  beheld  him  as  the  arrant  sneak  of  the 
world.  He,  the  lady-killer,  with  his  hypocriti- 
[181] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

cal  air  of  strength  and  melancholy  sweetness,  the 
leader  of  drunken  revels,  and,  by  reputation,  the 
town  Lothario  and  Light-o'-Love,  under  promise  of 
marriage  to  Fanchon  Bareaud,  had  tried  to  make 
love  to  another  girl,  and  now  his  cowardice  in  try- 
ing to  disclaim  what  he  had  done  lent  him  the  inso- 
lence to  say  to  this  other :  "  My  child,  you  are  be- 
trayed by  your  youth  and  conceit ;  you  exaggerate 
my  meaning.  I  had  no  intention  to  distinguish  you 
by  coquetting  with  you !  "  This  was  her  interpre- 
tation of  him ;  and  her  indignation  was  not  lessened 
by  the  inevitable  conclusion  that  he,  who  had  been 
through  so  many  scenes  with  women,  secretly  found 
her  simplicity  diverting.  Miss  Betty  had  a  little  of 
her  father  in  her;  while  it  was  part  of  her  youth, 
too,  that,  of  all  things  she  could  least  endure  the 
shadow  of  a  smile  at  her  own  expense. 

"  Oh,  oh ! "  she  cried,  her  voice  shaking  with 
anger.  "  I  suppose  your  bad  heart  is  half-choked 
with  your  laughter  at  me." 

She  turned  from  him  swiftly,  and  left  him. 

Almost  running,  she  entered  the  house,  and  hur- 
ried to  a  seat  by  Mrs.  Tanberry,  nestling  to  her 
[182] 


Echoes  of  a  Serenade 

like  a  young  sapling  on  a  hillside.  Instantaneous- 
ly, several  gentlemen,  who  had  hastily  acquitted 
themselves  of  various  obligations  in  order  to  seek 
her,  sprang  forward  with  eager  greetings,  so  that 
when  the  stricken  Tom,  dazed  and  confounded  by 
his  evil  luck,  followed  her  at  about  five  paces,  he 
found  himself  confronted  by  an  impenetrable  ab- 
batis  formed  by  the  spiked  tails  of  the  coats  of 
General  Trumble,  Madrillon,  Tappingham  Marsh, 
Cummings  and  Jefferson  Bareaud.  Within  this 
fortification  rang  out  laughter  and  sally  from  Miss 
Carewe;  her  color  was  high  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
never  more  brightly. 

Flourish  and  alarums  sounded  for  a  quadrille. 
Each  of  the  semi-circle,  firmly  elbowing  his  neigh- 
bor, begged  the  dance  of  Miss  Betty ;  but  Tom  was 
himself  again,  and  laid  a  long,  strong  hand  on  Ma- 
drillon's  shoulder,  pressed  him  gently  aside,  and 
said: 

"  Forgive  me ;  Miss  Carewe  has  honored  me  by 
the  promise  of  this  quadrille." 

He  bowed,  offering  his  arm,  and  none  of  them 
was  too  vain  to  envy  that  bow  and  gesture. 
[183] 


The  Two  Vanrerels 

For  a  moment  he  remained  waiting.  Miss 
Carewe  rose  slowly,  and,  directly  facing  him,  said  in 
composed  and  even  voice :  "  You  force  me  to  beg 
you  never  to  address  me  again." 

She  placed  her  hand  on  the  General's  arm,  turn- 
ing her  back  squarely  upon  Tom. 

In  addition  to  those  who  heard,  many  persons  in 
that  part  of  the  room  saw  the  affront  and  paused 
in  arrested  attitudes ;  others,  observing  these,  turned 
inquiringly,  so  that  sudden  silence  fell,  broken  only 
by  the  voice  of  Miss  Betty  as  she  moved  away,  talk- 
ing cheerily  to  the  General.  Tom  was  left  stand- 
ing alone  in  the  broken  semicircle. 

All  the  eyes  swept  from  her  to  him  and  back; 
then  everyone  began  to  talk  hastily  about 
nothing.  The  young  man's  humiliation  was  public. 

He  went  to  the  door  under  cover  of  the  movement 
of  the  various  couples  to  find  places  in  the  quadrille, 
yet  every  sidelong  glance  in  the  room  still  rested 
upon  him,  and  he  knew  it.  He  remained  in  the 
hall,  alone,  through  that  dance,  and  at  its  con- 
clusion, walked  slowly  through  the  rooms,  speaking 
to  people,  here  and  there,  as  though  nothing  had 


Echoes  of  a  Serenade 

happened,  but  when  the  music  sounded  again,  he 
went  to  the  dressing-room,  found  his  hat  and  cloak, 
and  left  the  house.  For  a  while  he  stood  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street,  watching  the  lighted 
windows,  and  twice  he  caught  sight  of  the  lilac  and 
white  brocade,  the  dark  hair,  and  the  wreath  of 
marguerites.  Then,  with  a  hot  pain  in  his  breast, 
and  the  step  of  a  Grenadier,  he  marched  down  the 
street. 

In  the  carriage  Mrs.  Tanberry  took  Betty's  hand 
in  hers.  "  I'll  do  as  you  wish,  child,"  she  said,  "  and 
never  speak  to  you  of  him  again  as  long  as  I  live, 
except  this  once.  I  think  it  was  best  for  his  own 
sake  as  well  as  yours,  but " 

"  He  needed  a  lesson,"  interrupted  Miss  Betty, 
wearily.  She  had  danced  long  and  hard,  and  she 
was  very  tired. 

Mrs.  Tanberry's  staccato  laugh  came  out  irre- 
pressibly.  "  All  the  vagabonds  do,  Princess!  "  she 
cried.  "  And  I  think  they  are  getting  it." 

"  No,  no,  I  don't  mean " 

"  We've  turned  their  heads,  my  'dear,  between 
[185] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

us,  you  and  I ;  and  we'll  have  to  turn  'em  again,  or 
they'll  break  their  necks  looking  over  their  shoul- 
ders at  us,  the  owls !  "  She  pressed  the  girl's  hand 
affectionately.  "  But  you'll  let  me  say  something 
just  once,  and  forgive  me  because  we're  the  same 
foolish  age,  you  know.  It's  only  this:  The  next 
young  man  you  suppress,  take  him  off  in  a  corner ! 
Lead  him  away  from  the  crowd  where  he  won't  have 
to  stand  and  let  them  look  at  him  afterward.  That's 
all,  my  dear,  and  you  mustn't  mind." 

"  I'm  not  sorry !  "  said  Miss  Betty  hotly.  "  I'm 
not  sorry ! " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Tanberry,  soothingly.  "  It 
was  better  this  time  to  do  just  what  yon  did.  I'd 
have  done  it  myself,  to  make  quite  sure  he  would 
keep  away — because  I  like  him." 

"  I'm  not  sorry !  "  said  Miss  Betty  again. 

"  I'm  not  sorry !  "  she  repeated  and  reiterated  to 
herself  after  Mrs.  Tanberry  had  gone  to  bed.  She 
had  sunk  into  a  chair  in  the  library  with  a  book, 
and  "  I'm  not  sorry ! "  she  whispered  as  the  open 
unread  page  blurred  before  her,  "  I'm  not  sorry !  " 
He  had  needed  his  lesson ;  but  she  had  to  bear  the 
[186] 


Echoes  of  a  Serenade 

recollection  of  how  white  his  face  went  when  he  re- 
ceived it.  Her  affront  had  put  about  him  a  strange 
loneliness:  the  one  figure  with  the  stilled  crowd 
staring;  it  had  made  a  picture  from  which  her 
mind's  eye  had  been  unable  to  escape,  danced  she 
never  so  hard  and  late.  Unconsciously,  Robert 
Carewe's  daughter  had  avenged  the  other  figure 
which  had  stood  in  lonely  humiliation  before  the 
staring  e}res. 

"  I'm  not  sorry !  "  Ah,  did  they  think  it  was  in 
her  to  hurt  any  living  thing  in  the  world?  The 
book  dropped  from  her  lap,  and  she  bowed  her  head 
upon  her  hands.  "  I'm  not  sorry !  " — and  tears 
upon  the  small  lace  gauntlets! 

She  saw  them,  and  with  an  incoherent  exclama- 
tion, half  self-pitying,  half  impatient,  ran  out  to 
the  stars  above  her  garden. 

She  was  there  for  perhaps  half  an  hour,  and  just 
before  she  returned  to  the  house  she  did  a  singular 
thing. 

Standing  where  all  was  clear  to  the  sky,  where 
she  had  stood  after  her  talk  with  the  Incroyable, 
when  he  had  bid  her  look  to  the  stars,  she  raised  her 
1187  J 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

arms  to  them  again,  her  face,  pale  with  a  great 
tenderness,  uplifted. 

"  You,  you,  you!  "  she  whispered.  "  I  love  you!  " 
And  yet  it  was  to  nothing  definite,  to  no  man, 
nor  outline  of  a  man,  to  no  phantom  nor  dream- 
lover,  that  she  spoke;  neither  to  him  she  had  af- 
fronted, nor  to  him  who  had  bidden  her  look  to  the 
stars.  Nor  was  it  to  the  stars  themselves. 

She  returned   slowly   and  thoughtfully  to  the 
house,  wondering  what  she  had  meant. 


[188  J 


CHAPTER  XI 
A  Voice  in  a  Garden 

CRAILEY  came  home  the  next  day  with  a 
new  poem,  but  no  fish.     He  lounged  up  the 
stairs,    late    in    the    afternoon,    humming 
cheerfully  to  himself,  and,  dropping  his  rod  in 
a  corner  of  Tom's  office,  laid  the  poem  on  the 
desk  before  his  partner,  produced  a  large,  newly 
replenished  flask,  opened  it,  stretched  himself  com- 
fortably upon  a  capacious  horse-hair  sofa,  drank  a 
deep  draught,  chuckled  softly,  and  requested  Mr. 
Vanrevel  to  set  the  rhymes  to  music  immediately. 

"  Try  it  on  your  instrument,"  he  said.  "  It's  a 
simple  verse  about  nothing  but  stars,  and  you  can 
work  it  out  in  twenty  minutes  with  the  guitar." 

"  It  is  broken,"  said  Tom,  not  looking  up  from 
his  work. 

"Broken!     When?" 
"  Last  night." 

[189] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

"Who  broke  it?" 

"  It  fell  from  the  table  in  my  room." 

"  How?     Easily  mended,  isn't  it?  " 

"  I  think  I  shall  not  play  it  soon  again." 

Crailey  swung  his  long  legs  off  the  sofa  and  ab- 
ruptly sat  upright.  "  What's  this  ?"  he  asked 
gravely. 

Tom  pushed  his  papers  away  from  him,  rose  and 
went  to  the  dusty  window  that  looked  to  the  west, 
where,  at  the  end  of  the  long  street,  the  sun  was 
setting  behind  the  ruin  of  charred  timbers  on  the 
bank  of  the  shining  river. 

"  It  seems  that  I  played  once  too  often,"  he 
said. 

Crailey  was  thoroughly  astonished.  He  took  a 
long,  affectionate  pull  at  the  flask  and  offered  it  to 
his  partner. 

"  No,"  said  Tom,  turning  to  him  with  a  troubled 
face,  "  and  if  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  either.  These 
fishing  trips  of  yours " 

"Fishing!"  Crailey  laughed.  "Trips  of  a 
poetaster !  It's  then  I  write  best,  and  write  I  will ! 
There's  a  poem,  and  a  damned  good  one,  too,  old 
[190] 


A  Voice  in  a  Garden 

preacher,  in  every  gill  of  whiskey,  and  I'm  the  lad 
that  can  extract  it!  Lord!  what's  better  than  to 
be  out  in  the  open,  all  by  yourself  in  the  woods,  or 
on  the  river?  Think  of  the  long  nights  alone  with 
the  glory  of  heaven  and  a  good  demijohn.  Why, 
a  man's  thoughts  are  like  actors  performing  in  the 
air  and  all  the  crowding  stars  for  audience !  You 
know  in  your  soul  you'd  rather  have  me  out  there, 
going  it  all  by  myself,  than  raising  thunder  over 
town.  And  you  know,  too,  it  doesn't  tell  on  me ;  it 
doesn't  show!  You  couldn't  guess,  to  save  your 
life,  how  much  I've  had  to-day,  now,  could  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  other,  "  I  could." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Crailey,  good-naturedly,  "  we 
weren't  talking  of  me."  He  set  down  the  flask, 
went  to  his  friend  and  dropped  a  hand  lightly  on 
his  shouldder.  "  What  made  you  break  the  gui- 
tar? Tell  me." 

"  What  makes  you  think  I  broke  it?  "  asked  his 
partner  sharply. 

"  Tell  me  why  you  did  it,"  said  Crailey. 

And   Tom,   pacing  the  room,  told  him,   while 
Crailey  stood  in  silence,  looking  him  eagerly  in  the 
[191] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

eye  whenever  Tom  turned  his  way.    The  listener  in- 
terrupted seldom ;  once  it  was  to  exclaim : 

"  But  you  haven't  said  why  you  broke  the  gui- 
tar? " 

"'If  thine  eye  offend  thee,  pluck  it  out!'  I 
ought  to  have  cut  off  the  hands  that  played  to 
her." 

"  And  cut  your  throat  for  singing  to  her?  " 

"  She  was  right ! "  the  other  answered,  striding 
up  and  down  the  room.  "  Right — a  thousand  times ! 
— in  everything  she  did.  That  I  should  even  ap- 
proach her,  was  an  unspeakable  insolence.  I  had 
forgotten,  and  so,  possibly,  had  she,  but  I  had  not 
even  been  properly  introduced  to  her." 

"  No,  you  hadn't,  that's  true,"  observed  Crailey, 
reflectively.  "  You  don't  seem  to  have  much  to  re- 
proach her  with,  Tom." 

"Reproach  her!"  cried  the  other.  "That  I 
should  dream  she  would  speak  to  me  or  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  me,  was  to  cast  a  doubt  upon  her 
loyalty  as  a  daughter.  She  was  right,  I  say! 
And  she  did  the  only  thing  she  could  do:  rebuked 
me  before  them  all.  No  one  ever  merited  what  he 
[192] 


A  Voice  in  a  Garden 

got  more  roundly  than  I  deserved  that.  Who  was 
I,  in  her  eyes,  that  I  should  besiege  her  with  my 
importunities,  who  but  her  father's  worst  enemy  ?  *' 

Deep  anxiety  knitted  Crailey's  brow.  "  I  under- 
stood she  knew  of  the  quarrel,"  he  said,  thought- 
fully. "  I  saw  that,  the  other  evening  when  I 
helped  her  out  of  the  crowd.  She  spoke  of  it  on 
the  way  home,  I  remember;  but  how  did  she  know 
that  you  were  Vanrevel?  No  one  in  town  would 
be  apt  to  mention  you  to  her." 

"  No,  but  she  did  know,  you  see." 

"Yes,"  returned  Mr.  Gray  slowly.  "So  it 
seems !  Probably  her  father  told  her  to  avoid  you, 
and  described  you  so  that  she  recognized  you  as 
the  man  who  caught  the  kitten." 

He  paused,  picked  up  the  flask,  and  again  ap- 
plied himself  to  its  contents,  his  eyes  peering  over 
the  up-tilted  vessel  at  Tom,  who  continued  to  pace 
up  and  down  the  length  of  the  office.  After  a  time, 
Crailey,  fumbling  in  his  coat,  found  a  long  che- 
root, and,  as  he  lit  it,  inquired  casually: 

"  Do  you  remember  if  she  addressed  you  by 
name?  " 

[193] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

u  I  think  not,"  Tom  answered,  halting.  "  What 
does  it  matter?  " 

Crailey  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  It  doesn't,"  he  returned. 

"  She  knew  me  well  enough,"  said  Tom,  sadly,  as 
he  resumed  his  sentry-go. 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Crailey,  deliberately.  "  So  it 
seems ;  so  it  seems ! "  He  blew  a  long  stream  of 
smoke  out  into  the  air  before  him,  and  softly  mur- 
mured again :  "  So  it  seems,  so  it  seems." 

Silence  fell,  broken  only  by  the  sound  of  Tom's 
footsteps,  until,  presently,  some  one  informally 
shouted  his  name  from  the  street  below.  It  was 
only  Will  Cummings,  passing  the  time  of  day, 
but  when  Tom  turned  from  the  window  after  an- 
swering him,  Crailey,  his  poem,  and  his  flask  were 
gone. 

That  evening  Vanrevel  sat  in  the  dusty  office, 
driving  himself  to  his  work  with  a  sharp  goad, 
for  there  was  a  face  that  came  between  him  and  all 
else  in  the  world,  and  a  voice  that  sounded  always 
in  his  ears.  But  the  work  was  done  before  he 


A  Voice  in  a  Garden 

rose  from  his  chair,  though  he  showed  a  haggard 
visage  as  he  bent  above  his  candles  to  blow  them 
out. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock ;  Crailey  had  not  come  back, 
and  Tom  knew  that  his  light-hearted  friend  would 
not  return  for  many  hours ;  and  so,  having  no  mind 
to  read,  and  no  belief  that  he  could  if  he  tried,  he 
went  out  to  walk  the  streets.  He  went  down  to  the 
river  first,  and  stood  for  a  little  while  gazing  at  the 
ruins  of  the  two  warehouses,  and  that  was  like  a 
man  with  a  headache  beating  his  skull  against  a 
wall.  As  he  stood  on  the  blackened  wharf,  he  saw 
how  the  charred  beams  rose  above  him  against  the 
sky  like  a  gallows,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  noth- 
ing could  have  been  a  better  symbol,  for  here  he 
had  hanged  his  self-respect.  "  Reproach  her ! " 
He,  who  had  so  displayed  his  imbecility  before  her ! 
Had  he  been  her  father's  best  friend,  he  should  have 
had  too  great  a  sense  of  shame  to  dare  to  speak  to 
her  after  that  night  when  her  quiet  intelligence  had 
exhibited  him  to  himself,  and  to  all  the  world,  as 
nought  else  than  a  fool — and  a  noisy  one  at 
thatl 

[195] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

Suddenly  a  shudder  convulsed  him ;  he  struck  his 
open  palm  across  his  forehead  and  spoke  aloud, 
while,  from  horizon  to  horizon,  the  night  air  grew 
thick  with  the  whispered  laughter  of  observing 
hobgoblins : 

"And  even  if  there  had  been  no  stairway,  we 
could  have  slid  down  the  hose-line !  " 

He  retraced  his  steps,  a  tall,  gray  figure  moving 
slowly  through  the  blue  darkness,  and  his  lips 
formed  the  heart-sick  shadow  of  a  smile  when  he 
found  that  he  had  unconsciously  turned  into  Carewe 
Street.  Presently  he  came  to  a  gap  in  a  hedge, 
through  which  he  had  sometimes  stolen  to  hear  the 
sound  of  a  harp  and  a  girl's  voice  singing ;  but  he 
did  not  enter  there  to-night,  though  he  paused  a 
moment,  his  head  bowed  on  his  breast. 

There  came  a  sound  of  voices ;  they  seemed  to  be 
moving  toward  the  hedge,  toward  the  gap  where 
he  stood ;  one  a  man's  eager,  quick,  but  very 
musical ;  the  other,  a  girl's,  a  rich  and  clear  contralto 
that  passed  into  Tom's  soul  like  a  psalm  of  rejoic- 
ing and  like  a  scimitar  of  flame.  He  shivered,  and 
moved  away  quickly,  but  not  before  the  man's  voice, 
[196] 


A  Voice  in  a  Garden 

somewhat  louder  for  the  moment,  came  distinctly 
from  the  other  side  of  the  hedge : 

"After  all,"  said  the  voice,  with  a  ripple  of 
laughter,  "  after  all,  weren't  you  a  little  hard  on 
that  poor  Mr.  Gray?  " 

Tom  did  not  understand,  but  he  knew  the  voice. 
It  was  that  of  Crailey  Gray. 

He  heard  the  same  voice  again  that  night,  and 
again  stood  unseen.  Long  after  midnight  he  was 
§till  tramping  the  streets  on  his  lonely  rounds, 
when  he  chanced  to  pass  the  Rouen  House,  whicK 
hostelry  bore,  to  the  uninitiated  eye,  the  appear- 
ance of  having  closed  its  doors  upon  all  hospitali- 
ties for  the  night,  in  strict  compliance  with  the  law 
of  the  city  fathers,  yet  a  slender  wand  of  bright 
light  might  be  discovered  underneath  the  street 
door  of  the  bar-room. 

From  within  the  merry  retreat  issued  an  uproar 
of  shouting,  raucous  laughter  and  the  pounding  of 
glasses  on  tables,  heralding  all  too  plainly  the 
hypocrisy  of  the  landlord,  and  possibly  that  of  the 
city  fathers  also.  Tom  knew  what  company  was 
gathered  there :  gamblers,  truckmen,  drunken  farm- 
1197] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

ers,  men  from  the  river  steamers  making  riot  while 
their  boats  lay  at  the  wharf,  with  a  motley  gather- 
ing of  good-for-nothings  of  the  back-alleys,  and 
tippling  clerks  from  the  Main  Street  stores.  There 
came  loud  cries  for  a  song,  and,  in  answer,  the  voice 
of  Crailey  rose  over  the  general  din,  somewhat 
hoarse,  and  never  so  musical  when  he  sang  as  when 
he  spoke,  yet  so  touching  in  its  dramatic  tenderness 
that  soon  the  noise  fell  away,  and  the  roisterers 
sat  quietly  to  listen.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
Ben  Jonson's  song  had  stilled  a  disreputable  com- 
pany. 

••  I  tent  thee  late  a  rosy  wreath, 
Not  so  much  honoring  thee, 
As  giving  it  the  hope  that  there 
It  might  not  withered  be" 

Perhaps,  just  then,  Vanrevel  would  have  wished 
to  hear  him  sing  anything  in  the  world  rather  than 
that,  for  on  Crailey's  lips  it  carried  too  much  mean- 
ing to-night,  after  the  voice  in  the  garden.  And 
Tom  lingered  no  more  near  the  betraying  sliver  of 
light  beneath  the  door  than  he  had  by  the  gap  in 
the  hedge,  but  went  steadily  on  his  way. 
[198] 


A  Voice  in  a  Garden 

Not  far  from  the  hotel  he  passed  a  small  build- 
ing brightly  lighted  and  echoing  with  unusual 
clamors  of  industry :  the  office  of  the  Rouen  Journal. 
The  press  was  going,  and  Mr.  Cummings's  thin 
figure  crossed  and  recrossed  the  windows,  while  his 
voice  could  be  heard  energetically  bidding  his  a&- 
sistants  to  "  Look  alive ! "  so  that  Tom  imagined 
that  something  might  have  happened  between  the 
Nueces  River  and  the  Rio  Grande;  but  he  did  not 
stop  to  ask  the  journalist,  for  he  desired  to  behold 
the  face  of  none  of  his  friends  until  he  had  fought 
out  some  things  within  himself.  So  he  strode  on 
toward  nowhere. 

Day  was  breaking  when  Mr.  Gray  climbed  the 
stairs  to  his  room.  There  were  two  flights,  the 
ascent  of  the  first  of  which  occupied  about  half 
an  hour  of  Crailey's  invaluable  time ;  and  the 
second  might  have  taken  more  of  it,  or  possibly 
consumed  the  greater  part  of  the  morning,  had  he 
received  no  assistance.  But,  as  he  reclined  to  med- 
itate upon  the  first  landing,  another  man  entered 
the  hallway  from  without,  ascended  quickly, 
and  Crailey  became  pleasantly  conscious  that  two 
[199] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

strong  hands  had  lifted  him  to  his  feet ;  and,  pres- 
ently, that  he  was  being  borne  aloft  upon  the  new- 
comer's back.  It  seemed  quite  a  journey,  yet  the 
motion  was  soothing,  so  he  made  no  effort  to  open 
his  eyes,  until  he  found  himself  gently  deposited 
upon  the  couch  in  his  own  chamber,  when  he 
smiled  amiably,  and,  looking  up,  discovered  his 
partner  standing  over  him. 

Tom  was  very  pale  and  there  were  deep,  violet 
scrawls  beneath  his  eyes.  For  once  in  his  life  he 
had  come  home  later  than  Crailey. 

"  First  time,  you  know,"  said  Crailey,  with  dif- 
ficulty. "  You'll  admit  first  time  completely  inca- 
pable? Often  needed  guiding  hand,  but  never — 
quite — before." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom,  quietly,  "  it  is  the  first  time 
I  ever  saw  you  quite  finished." 

"  Think  I  must  be  growing  old  and  constitution 
refuses  bear  it.  Disgraceful  to  be  seen  in  condition, 
yet  celebration  justified.  H'rah  for  the  news! "  He 
waved  his  hand  wildly.  "  Old  red,  white,  and  blue ! 
American  eagle  now  kindly  proceed  to  scream !  Star- 
spangled  banner  intends  streaming  to  all  the  trade 
[.WO] 


A  Voice  in  a  Garden 

winds !  Sea  to  sea !  Glorious  victories  on  political 
thieving  exhibition — no,  expedition !  Everybody  not 
responsible  for  the  trouble  to  go  and  get  himself 
patriotically  killed!" 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Water !  "  said  the  other,  feebly.  Tom  brought 
the  pitcher,  and  Crailey,  setting  his  hot  lips  to 
it,  drank  long  and  deeply ;  then,  with  his  friend's 
assistance,  he  tied  a  heavily  moistened  towel 
round  his  head.  "  All  right  very  soon  and  sober 
again,"  he  muttered,  and  lay  back  upon  the  pillow 
with  eyes  tightly  closed  in  an  intense  effort  to  con- 
centrate his  will.  When  he  opened  them  again, 
four  or  five  minutes  later,  they  had  marvellously 
cleared  and  his  look  was  self-contained  and  sane. 

"  Haven't  you  heard  the  news? "  He  spoke 
much  more  easily  now.  "  It  came  at  midnight  to 
the  Journal." 

"  No;  I've  been  walking  in  the  country." 

"  The  Mexicans  crossed  the  Rio  Grande  on  the 
twenty-sixth  of  last  month,  captured  Captain 
Thornton  and  murdered  Colond  Crook.  That 
means  war  is  certain." 

[201? 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

*'  It  has  been  certain  for  a  long  time,"  said  Tom. 
"  Polk  has  forced  it  from  the  first." 

"  Then  it's  a  devil  of  a  pity  he  can't  be  the  only 
man  to  die !  " 

"  Have  they  called  for  volunteers  ?  "  asked  Tom, 
going  toward  the  door. 

"  No;  but  if  the  news  is  true,  they  will." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom ;  and  as  he  reached  the  hall- 
way he  paused.  "  Can  I  help  you  to  undress?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  "  Crailey  sat  up,  indignantly. 
"  Can't  you  see  that  I'm  perfectly  sober?  It  was 
the  merest  temporary  fit,  and  I've  shaken  it  off. 
Don't  you  see?"  He  got  upon  his  feet,  stag- 
gered, but  shook  himself  like  a  dog  coining  out  of 
the  water,  and  came  to  the  door  with  infirm  steps. 

"  You're  going  to  bed,  aren't  you?  "  asked  Tom. 
*'  You'd  much  better." 

"  No,"  answered  Crailey.    "  Are  you?  " 

"  No.    I'm  going  to  work." 

"  You've  been  all  up  night,  too,  haven't  you  ?  " 
Crailey  put  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder. 
"  Were  you  hunting  for  me  ?  " 

"No;  not  last  night." 

[202] 


A  Voice  in  a  Garden 

Crailey  lurched  suddenly,  and  Tom  caught  him 
about  the  waist  to  steady  him. 

"  Sweethearting,  tippling,  vingt-et-un,  or  poker, 
eh,  Tom?  "  he  shouted,  thickly,  with  a  wild  laugh. 
"  Ha,  ha,  old  smug-face,  up  to  my  bad  tricks  at 
last ! "  But,  recovering  himself  immediately,  he 
pushed  the  other  off  at  arm's  length,  and  slapped 
himself  smartly  on  the  brow.  "  Never  mind ;  all 
right,  all  right — only  a  bad  wave,  now  and  then. 
A  walk  will  make  me  more  a  man  than  ever." 

"  You'd  much  better  go  to  bed,  Crailey." 

"  I  can't.  I'm  going  to  change  my  clothes  and 
go  out." 

"Why?" 

Crailey  did  not  answer,  but  at  that  moment  the 
Catholic  church-bell,  summoning  the  faithful  to 
mass,  pealed  loudly  on  the  morning  air;  and  the 
steady  glance  of  Tom  Vanrevel  rested  upon  the 
reckless  eyes  of  the  man  beside  him  as  they  listened 
together  to  its  insistent  call.  Tom  said,  gently, 
almost  timidly: 

"  You  have  an — engagement?  " 

This  time  the  answer  came  briskly.  "Yes;  I 
[203] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

promised  to  take  Fanchon  to  the  cemetery  before 
breakfast,  to  place  some  flowers  on  the  grave  of 
the  little  brother  who  died.  This  happens  to  be 
his  birthday." 

It  was  Tom  who  averted  his  eyes,  not  Crailey. 

"  Then  you'd  best  hurry,"  he  said,  hesitatingly ; 
"  I  mustn't  keep  you,"  and  went  downstairs  to  his 
office  with  flushed  cheeks,  a  hanging  head,  and  an 
expression  which  would  have  led  a  stranger  to  be- 
lieve that  he  had  just  been  caught  in  a  lie. 

He  went  to  the  Main  Street  window,  and  seated 
himself  upon  the  ledge,  the  only  one  in  the  room 
not  too  dusty  for  occupation;  for  here,  at  this 
hour,  Tom  had  taken  his  place  every  morning 
since  Elizabeth  Carewe  had  come  from  the  convent. 
The  window  was  a  coign  of  vantage,  commanding 
the  corner  of  Carewe  and  Main  streets.  Some  dis- 
tance west  of  the  corner,  the  Catholic  church  cast 
its  long  shadow  across  Main  Street,  and,  in  order 
to  enter  the  church,  a  person  who  lived  upon 
Carewe  Street  must  pass  the  corner,  or  else  make 
a  half-mile  detour  and  approach  from  the  other 
direction — which  the  person  never  did.  Tom  had 
[204] 


A  Voice  in  a  Garden 

thought  it  out  the  first  night  that  the  image  of 
Miss  Betty  had  kept  him  awake — and  that  was  the 
first  night  Miss  Carewe  spent  in  Rouen — the  St. 
Mary's  girl  would  be  sure  to  go  to  mass  every  day, 
which  was  why  the  window-ledge  was  dusted  the 
next  morning. 

The  glass  doors  of  the  little  corner  drug-store 
caught  the  early  sun  of  the  hot  May  morning  and 
became  like  sheets  of  polished  brass;  a  farmer's 
wagon  rattled  down  the  dusty  street;  a  group  of 
Irish  waitresses  from  the  hotel  made  the  board- 
walk rattle  under  their  hurried  steps  as  they  went 
toward  the  church,  talking  busily  to  one  another; 
and  a  blinking  youth  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  who  wore 
the  air  of  one  newly,  but  not  gladly,  risen,  began 
to  struggle  mournfully  with  the  shutters  of  Mad- 
rillon's  bank.  A  moment  later,  Tom  heard  Crailey 
come  down  the  stairs,  sure  of  foot  and  humming 
lightly  to  himself.  The  door  of  the  office  was 
closed;  Crailey  did  not  look  in,  but  presently  ap- 
peared, smiling,  trim,  immaculate,  all  in  white 
linen,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  offered 
badinage  to  the  boy  who  toiled  at  the  shutters. 
1205] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

The  bell  had  almost  ceased  to  ring  when  a  lady, 
dressed  plainly  in  black,  but  graceful  and  tall, 
came  rapidly  out  of  Carewe  Street,  turned  at  the 
corner  by  the  little  drug-store,  and  went  toward 
the  church.  The  boy  was  left  staring,  for  Crailey's 
banter  broke  off  in  the  middle  of  a  word. 

He  overtook  her  on  the  church  steps,  and  they 
went  in  together. 

That  afternoon  Fanchon  Bareaud  told  Tom 
how  beautiful  her  betrothed  had  been  to  her;  he 
had  brought  her  a  great  bouquet  of  violets  and 
lilies-of-the-valley,  and  had  taken  her  to  the  ceme- 
tery to  place  them  on  the  grave  of  her  baby  broth- 
er, whose  birthday  it  was.  Tears  came  to  Fan- 
chon's  eyes  as  she  spoke  of  her  lover's  goodness, 
and  of  how  wonderfully  he  had  talked  as  they 
stood  beside  the  little  grave. 

"  He  was  the  only  one  who  remembered  that  this 
was  poor  tiny  Jean's  birthday!"  she  said,  and 
sobbed.  "  He  came  just  after  breakfast  and  asked 
me  to  go  out  there  with  him." 


[206] 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  Room  in  the  Cupola 

MR.  CAREWE  returned,  one  warm  May 
afternoon,  by  the  six  o'clock  boat,  which 
was  sometimes  a  day  late  and  sometimes 
a  few  hours  early;  the  latter  contingency  arising, 
as  in  the  present  instance,  when  the  owner  was 
aboard.  Nelson  drove  him  from  the  wharf  to  the 
bank,  where  he  conferred  briefly,  in  an  undertone, 
with  Eugene  Madrillon;  after  which  Eugene  sent 
a  note  containing  three  words  to  Tappingham 
Marsh.  Marsh  tore  up  the  note,  and  sauntered 
over  to  the  club,  where  he  found  General  Trumble 
and  Jefferson  Bareaud  amicably  discussing  a 
pitcher  of  cherry  bounce. 

"  He  has  come,"  said  Tappingham,  pleased  to 
find  the  pair  the  only  occupants  of  the  place. 
"  He  saw  Madrillon,  and  there's  a  session  to- 
night." 

"  Praise  the  Lord ! "  exclaimed  the  stout  Gen- 
[207] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

eral,  rising  to  his  feet.     "  I'll  see  old  Chenoweth 
at  once.    My  fingers  have  the  itch." 

"  And  mine,  too,"  said  Bareaud.  "  I'd  begun 
to  think  we'd  never  have  a  go  with  him  again." 

"  You  must  see  that  Crailey  comes.  We  want  a 
full  table.  Drag  him,  if  you  can't  get  him  any 
other  way." 

"  He  won't  need  urging,"  said  Jefferson. 

"  But  he  cut  us  last  time." 

"  He  won't  cut  to-night.    What  hour?  " 

"  Nine,"  answered  Tappingham.  "  It's  to  be  a 
full  sitting,  remember." 

"  Don't  fear  for  us,"  laughed  Trumble. 

"Nor  for  Crailey,"  Jefferson  added.  "After 
so  long  a  vacation  you  couldn't  keep  him  away  if 
you  chained  him  to  the  court-house  pillars;  he'd 
tear  'em  in  two !  " 

"  Here's  to  our  better  fortunes,  then ! "  said  the 
old  soldier,  filling  a  glass  for  Tappingham;  and, 
"  Here's  to  our  better  fortunes !  "  echoed  the  young 
men,  pouring  off  the  gentle  liquor  heartily.  Hav- 
ing thus  made  libation  to  their  particular  god,  the 
trio  separated. 

[208] 


The  Room  in  the  Cupola 

But  Jefferson  did  not  encounter  the  alacrity  of 
acceptance  he  expected  from  Crailey,  when  he 
found  him,  half  an  hour  later,  at  the  hotel  bar.  In- 
deed, at  first,  Mr.  Gray  not  only  refused  outright 
to  go,  but  seriously  urged  the  same  course  upon 
Jefferson;  moreover,  his  remonstrance  was  offered 
in  such  evident  good  faith  that  Bareaud,  in  the  act 
of  swallowing  one  of  his  large  doses  of  quinine, 
paused  with  only  half  the  powder  down  his  throat, 
gazing,  nonplussed,  at  his  prospective  brother-in- 
law. 

"  My  immortal  soul !  "  he  gasped.  "  Is  this 
Crailey  Gray?  What's  the  trouble?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Crailey,  quietly.  "  Only 
don't  go,  you've  lost  enough." 

"  Well,  you're  a  beautiful  one ! "  Jefferson  ex- 
claimed, with  an  incredulous  laugh.  "  You're  a 
master  hand ;  you,  to  talk  about  losing  enough ! " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  Crailey  began,  shaking  his 
head,  "  but " 

"  You've  promised  Fanchon  never  to  go  again, 
and  you're  afraid  Miss  Betty  will  see  or  hear  us, 
and  tell  her  you  were  there." 
[209] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

"  I  don't  know  Miss  Carewe." 

"  Then  you  needn't  fear ;  besides,  she'll  be  out 
when  we  come,  and  asleep  when  we  go.  She  will 
never  know  we've  been  in  the  house." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Crailey, 
impatiently;  and  he  was  the  more  earnest  because 
he  remembered  the  dangerous  geography  of  the 
Carewe  house,  which  made  it  impossible  for  anyone 
to  leave  the  cupola-room  except  by  the  long  hall 
which  passed  certain  doors.  "  I  will  not  go,  and 
what's  more,  I  promised  Fanchon  I'd  try  to  keep 
you  out  of  it  hereafter." 

"  Lord,  but  we're  virtuous !  "  laughed  the  incred- 
ulous Jefferson.  "  I'll  come  for  you  at  a  quarter 
to  nine." 

"  I  will  not  go,  I  tell  you." 

Jefferson  roared.  "  Yes,  you  will.  You  couldn't 
keep  from  it  if  you  tried !  "  And  he  took  himself 
off,  laughing  violently,  again  promising  to  call  for 
Crailey  on  his  way  to  the  tryst,  and  leaving  him 
still  warmly  protesting  that  it  would  be  a  great 
folly  for  either  of  them  to  go. 

Crailey  looked  after  the  lad's  long,  thin  figure 
[210] 


The  Room  in  the  Cupola 

with  an  expression  as  near  anger  as  he  ever  wore. 
"  He'll  go,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"  And— ah,  well— I'll  have  to  risk  it !  I'll  go  with 
him,  but  only  to  try  and  bring  him  away  early — 
that  is,  as  early  as  it's  safe  to  be  sure  that  they 
are  asleep  downstairs.  And  I  won't  play.  No, 
I'll  not  play ;  I'll  not  play." 

He  paid  his  score  and  went  out  of  the  hotel  by  a 
side  door.  Some  distance  up  the  street,  Bareaud 
was  still  to  be  seen,  lounging  homeward  in  the 
pleasant  afternoon  sunshine,  he  stopped  on  a 
corner  and  serenely  poured  another  quinine  pow- 
der into  himself  and  threw  the  paper  to  a 
couple  of  pigs  who  looked  up  from  the  gutter 
maliciously. 

"  Confound  him ! "  said  Crailey,  laughing  rue- 
fully. "  He  makes  me  a  missionary — for  I'll  keep 
my  word  to  Fanchon  in  that,  at  least!  I'll  look 
after  Jefferson  to-night.  Ah,  I  might  as  well  be 
old  Tom  Vanrevel,  indeed !  " 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Carewe  had  taken  possession  of 
his  own  again.     His  daughter  ran  to  the  door  to 
meet  him ;  she  was  trembling  a  little,  and,  blushing 
[211] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

and  smiling,  held  out  both  her  hands  to  him,  so  that 
Mrs.  Tanberry  vowed  this  was  the  loveliest  creature 
in  the  world,  and  the  kindest. 

Mr.  Carewe  bowed  slightly,  as  to  an  acquaint- 
ance, and  disregarded  the  extended  hands. 

At  that,  the  blush  faded  from  Miss  Betty's 
cheeks;  she  trembled  no  more,  and  a  salutation  as 
icy  as  her  father's  was  returned  to  him.  He  bent 
his  heavy  brows  upon  her,  and  shot  a  black  glance 
her  way,  being,  of  course,  immediately  enraged  by 
her  reflection  of  his  own  manner,  but  he  did  not 
speak  to  her. 

Nor  did  he  once  address  her  during  the  evening 
meal,  preferring  to  honor  Mrs.  Tanberry  with  his 
conversation,  to  that  diplomatic  lady's  secret  anger, 
but  outward  amusement.  She  cheerfully  neglected 
to  answer  him  at  times,  having  not  the  slightest  awe 
of  him,  and  turned  to  the  girl  instead ;  indeed,  she 
was  only  prevented  from  rating  him  soundly  at  his 
own  table  by  the  fear  that  she  might  make  the  sit- 
uation more  difficult  for  her  young  charge.  As 
soon  as  it  was  possible,  she  made  her  escape  with 
Miss  Betty,  and  they  drove  away  in  the  twilight  to 
[212] 


The  Room  in  the  Cupola 

pay  visits  of  duty,  leaving  Mr.  Carewe  frowning 
at  his  coffee  on  the  veranda. 

When  they  came  home,  three  hours  later,  Miss 
Betty  noticed  that  a  fringe  of  illumination  bor- 
dered each  of  the  heavily  curtained  windows  in 
the  cupola,  and  she  uttered  an  exclamation,  for  she 
had  never  known  that  room  to  be  lighted. 

"  Look !  "  she  cried,  touching  Mrs.  Tanberry's 
arm,  as  the  horses  trotted  through  the  gates  under 
a  drizzle  of  rain,  "  I  thought  the  room  in  the  cupola 
was  empty.  It's  always  locked,  and  when  I  came 
from  St.  Mary's  he  told  me  that  old  furniture  was 
stored  there." 

Mrs.  Tanberry  was  grateful  for  the  darkness. 
"  He  may  have  gone  there  to  read,"  she  answered, 
in  a  queer  voice.  "  Let  us  go  quietly  to  bed,  child, 
so  as  not  to  disturb  him." 

Betty  had  as  little  desire  to  disturb  her  father 
as  she  had  to  see  him;  therefore  she  obeyed  her 
friend's  injunction,  and  went  to  her  room  on  tip- 
toe. The  house  was  very  silent  as  she  lit  the  can- 
dles on  her  bureau.  Outside,  the  gentle  drizzle 
and  the  soothing  tinkle  from  the  eaves  were  the 
[SIS] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

only  sounds ;  within,  there  was  but  the  faint  rustle 
of  garments  from  Mrs.  Tanberry's  room.  Pres- 
ently the  latter  ceased  to  be  heard,  and  a  wooden 
moan  of  protest  from  the  four-poster  upon  which 
the  good  lady  reposed,  announced  that  she  had 
drawn  the  curtains  and  wooed  the  rulers  of  Nod. 

Although  it  was  one  of  those  nights  of  which 
they  say,  "  It  is  a  good  night  to  sleep,"  Miss  Betty 
was  not  drowsy.  She  had  half-unfastened  one 
small  sandal,  but  she  tied  the  ribbons  again,  and 
seated  herself  by  the  open  window.  The  ledge  and 
casement  framed  a  dim  oblong  of  thin  light  from 
the  candles  behind  her,  a  lonely  lustre,  which 
crossed  the  veranda  to  melt  shapelessly  into  dark- 
ness on  the  soggy  lawn.  She  felt  a  melancholy  in 
the  softly  falling  rain  and  wet,  black  foliage  that 
chimed  with  the  sadness  of  her  own  spirit.  The 
night  suited  her  very  well,  for  her  father's  coming 
had  brought  a  weight  of  depression  with  it.  Why 
could  he  not  have  spoken  one  word  to  her,  even  a 
cross  one?  She  knew  that  he  did  not  love  her,  yet, 
merely  as  a  fellow-being,  she  was  entitled  to  a  meas- 
ure of  courtesy;  and  the  fact  that  she  was  his 
[214] 


The  Room  in  the  Cupola 

daughter  could  not  excuse  his  failure  to  render  it. 
Was  she  to  continue  to  live  with  him  on  their  pres- 
ent terms?  She  had  no  intention  to  make  another 
effort  to  alter  them;  but  to  remain  as  they  were 
would  be  intolerable,  and  Mrs.  Tanberry  could  not 
stay  forever,  to  act  as  a  buffer  between  her  and  her 
father.  Peering  out  into  the  dismal  night,  she 
found  her  own  future  as  black,  and  it  seemed  no 
wonder  that  the  Sisters  loved  the  convent  life ;  that 
the  pale  nuns  forsook  the  world  wherein  there  was 
so  much  useless  unkindness;  where  women  were 
petty  and  jealous,  like  that  cowardly  Fanchon,  and 
men  who  looked  great  were  tricksters,  like  Fan- 
chon's  betrothed.  Miss  Betty  clenched  her  delicate 
fingers.  She  would  not  remember  that  white, 
startled  face  again! 

Another  face  helped  her  to  shut  out  the  recollec- 
tion: that  of  the  man  who  had  come  to  mass  to 
meet  her  yesterday  morning,  and  with  whom  she 
had  taken  a  long  walk  afterward.  He  had  shown 
her  a  quaint  old  English  gardener  who  lived  on  the 
bank  of  the  river,  had  bought  her  a  bouquet, 
and  she  had  helped  him  to  select  another  to  send  to 
[215] 


The  Two  Vanreveh 

a  sick  friend.  How  beautiful  the  flowers  were,  and 
how  happy  he  had  made  the  morning  for  her,  with 
his  gayety,  his  lightness,  and  his  odd  wisdom !  Was 
it  only  yesterday  ?  Her  father's  coming  had  made 
yesterday  a  fortnight  old. 

But  the  continuously  pattering  rain  and  the  soft 
drip-drop  from  the  roof,  though  as  mournful  as 
she  chose  to  find  them,  began,  afterwhile,  to  weave 
their  somnolent  spells,  and  she  slowly  drifted  from 
reveries  of  unhappy  sorts,  into  half-dreams,  in 
which  she  was  still  aware  she  was  awake ;  yet  slum- 
ber, heavy-eyed,  stirring  from  the  curtains  be- 
side her  with  the  small  night  breeze,  breathed 
strange  distortions  upon  familiar  things,  and 
drowsy  impossibilities  moved  upon  the  surface  of 
her  thoughts.  Her  chin,  resting  upon  her  hand, 
sank  gently,  until  her  head  almost  lay  upon  her 
relaxed  arms. 

"  That  is  mine,  Crailey  Gray!  " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  immeasurably  startled, 

one  hand  clutching  the  back  of  her  chair,  the  other 

tremulously  pressed  to  her  cheek,  convinced  that 

her  father  had  stooped  over  her  and  shouted  the 

[216] 


The  Room  in  the  Cupola 

sentence  in  her  ear.  For  it  was  his  voice,  and  the 
house  rang  with  the  words ;  all  the  rooms,  halls,  and 
even  the  walls,  seemed  still  murmurous  with  the  sud- 
den sound,  like  the  tingling  of  a  bell  after  it  has 
been  struck.  And  yet — everything  was  quiet. 

She  pressed  her  fingers  to  her  forehead,  try- 
ing to  untangle  the  maze  of  dreams  which  had 
evolved  this  shock  for  her,  the  sudden  clamor  in 
her  father's  voice  of  a  name  she  hated  and  hoped 
never  to  hear  again,  a  name  she  was  trying  to  for- 
get. But  as  she  was  unable  to  trace  anything 
which  had  led  to  it,  there  remained  only  the  con- 
clusion that  her  nerves  were  not  what  they  should 
be.  The  vapors  having  become  obsolete  for  young 
ladies  as  an  explanation  for  all  unpleasant  sensa- 
tions, they  were  instructed  to  have  "  nerves."  This 
was  Miss  Betty's  first  consciousness  of  her  own,  and, 
desiring  no  greater  acquaintance  with  them,  she 
told  herself  it  was  unwholesome  to  fall  asleep  in  a 
chair  by  an  open  window  when  the  night  was  as  sad 
as  she. 

Turning  to  a  chair  in  front  of  the  small  oval 
mirror  of  her  bureau,  she  unclasped  the  brooch 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

which  held  her  lace  collar,  and,  seating  herself,  be- 
gan to  unfasten  her  hair.  Suddenly  she  paused, 
her  uplifted  arms  falling  mechanically  to  her  sides. 

Someone  was  coming  through  the  long  hall  with 
a  soft,  almost  inaudible  step,  a  step  which  was  not 
her  father's.  She  knew  at  once,  with  instinctive 
certainty,  that  it  was  not  he.  Nor  was  it  Nelson, 
who  would  have  shuffled;  nor  could  it  be  the  vain 
Mamie,  nor  one  of  the  other  servants,  for  they  did 
not  sleep  in  the  house.  It  was  a  step  more  like  a 
woman's,  though  certainly  it  was  not  Mrs.  Tan- 
berry's. 

Betty  rose,  took  a  candle,  and  stood  silent  for  a 
moment,  the  heavy  tresses  of  her  hair,  half-un- 
loosed, falling  upon  her  neck  and  left  shoulder  like 
the  folds  of  a  dark  drapery. 

At  the  slight  rustle  of  her  rising,  the  steps 
ceased  instantly.  Her  heart  set  up  a  wild  beating 
and  the  candle  shook  in  her  hand.  But  she  was 
brave  and  young,  and,  following  an  irresistible  im- 
pulse, she  ran  across  the  room,  flung  open  the  door, 
and  threw  the  light  of  the  candle  into  the  hall, 
holding  it  at  arm's  length  before  her. 
[218] 


The  Room  in  the  Cupola 

She  came  almost  face  to  face  with  Crailey  Gray. 
The  blood  went  from  his  cheeks  as  a  swallow- 
flies  down  from  a  roof ;  he  started  back  against  the 
opposite  wall  with  a  stifled  groan,  while  she  stared 
at  him  blankly,  and  grew  as  deathly  pale  as  he. 

He  was  a  man  of  great  resource  in  all  emergen- 
cies which  required  a  quick  tongue,  but,  for  the 
moment,  this  was  beyond  him.  He  felt  himself  lost, 
toppling  backward  into  an  abyss,  and  the  useless- 
ness  of  his  destruction  made  him  physically  sick. 
For  he  need  not  have  been  there ;  he  had  not  wished 
to  come;  he  had  well  counted  the  danger  to  him- 
self, and  this  one  time  in  his  life  had  gone  to  the 
cupola-room  out  of  good-nature.  But  Bareaud 
had  been  obstinate  and  Crailey  had  come  away 
alone,  hoping  that  Jefferson  might  follow.  And 
here  he  was,  poor  trapped  rat,  convicted  and  ruined 
because  of  a  good  action!  At  last  he  knew  con- 
sistency to  be  a  jewel,  and  that  a  greedy  boy  should 
never  give  a  crust;  that  a  fool  should  stick  to  his 
folly,  a  villain  to  his  deviltry,  and  each  hold  his 
own;  for  the  man  who  thrusts  a  good  deed  into  a 
life  of  lies  is  wound  about  with  perilous  passes,  and 
[219] 


The  Two  Vanrevds 

in  his  devious  ways  a  thousand  unexpected  damna- 
tions spring. 

Beaten,  stunned,  hang- jawed  with  despair,  he 
returned  her  long,  dumfounded  gaze  hopelessly 
and  told  the  truth  like  an  inspired  dunce. 

"  I  came — I  came — to  bring  another  man 
away,"  he  whispered  brokenly;  and,  at  the  very 
moment,  several  heavy,  half-suppressed  voices 
broke  into  eager  talk  overhead. 

The  white  hand  that  held  the  candle  wavered, 
and  the  shadows  glided  in  a  huge,  grotesque  dance. 
Twice  she  essayed  to  speak  before  she  could  do  so, 
at  the  same  moment  motioning  him  back,  for  he  had 
made  a  vague  gesture  toward  her. 

"  I  am  not  faint.  Do  you  mean,  away  from  up 
there?  "  She  pointed  to  the  cupola-stairs. 

"  Yes." 

"Have — have  you  seen  my  father?" 

The  question  came  out  of  such  a  depth  of  incred- 
ulousness  that  it  was  more  an  articulation  of  the 
lips  than  a  sound,  but  he  caught  it;  and,  with  it* 
not  hope,  but  the  shadow  of  a  shadow  of  hope,  a 
hand  waving  from  the  far  shore  to  the  swimmer 

£**>! 


The  Room  in  the  Cupola 

who  has  been  down  twice.     Did  she  fear  for  his 
sake? 

"  No — I  have  not  seen  him."  He  was  groping 
blindly. 

"  You  did  not  come  from  that  room?  " 

"  No." 

"  How  did  you  enter  the  house?  " 

The  draught  through  the  hall  was  blowing  upon 
him ;  the  double  doors  upon  the  veranda  had  been 
left  open  for  coolness.  "  There,"  he  said,  pointing 
to  them. 

"  But — I  heard  you  come  from  the  other  direc- 
tion." 

He  was  breathing  quickly;  he  saw  his  chance — • 
if  Jefferson  Bareaud  did  not  come  now. 

"  You  did  not  hear  me  come  down  the  stairs." 
He  leaned  toward  her,  risking  it  all  on  that. 

"  No." 

"  Ah ! "  A  sigh  too  like  a  gasp  burst  from 
Crailey.  His  head  lifted  a  little,  and  his  eyes 
were  luminous  with  an  eagerness  that  was  almost 
anguish.  He  set  his  utmost  will  at  work  to  collect 
himself  and  to  think  hard  and  fast. 
[221] 


The  Two  Vanrevek 

"  I  came  here  resolved  to  take  a  man  away, 
come  what  would !  "  he  said.  "  I  found  the  door 
open,  went  to  the  foot  of  that  stairway;  then  I 
stopped.  I  remembered  something;  I  turned,  and 
was  going  away  when  you  opened  the  door." 

"  You  remembered  what?  " 

Her  strained  attitude  did  not  relax,  nor,  to  his 
utmost  scrutiny,  was  the  complete  astonishment  of 
her  distended  gaze  altered  one  whit,  but  a  hint  of 
her  accustomed  high  color  was  again  upon  her 
cheek  and  her  lip  trembled  a  little,  like  that 
of  a  child  about  to  weep.  The  flicker  of  hope 
in  his  breast  increased  prodigiously,  and  the 
rush  of  it  took  the  breath  from  his  throat  and 
choked  him.  Good  God!  was  she  going  to  believe 
him? 

"  I  remembered — you !  " 

"  What?  "  she  said,  wonderingly. 

Art  returned  with  a  splendid  bound,  full-pin- 
ioned, his  beautiful  and  treacherous  Familiar  who 
had  deserted  him  at  the  crucial  instant;  but  she 
made  up  for  it  now,  folding  him  in  protective 
wings  and  breathing  through  his  spirit.  In  rapid 
[222  ] 


The  Room  in  the  Cupola 

and  vehement  whispers  he  poured  out  the  words 
upon  the  girl  in  the  doorway. 

"  I  have  a  friend,  and  I  would  lay  down  my  life 
to  make  him  what  he  could  be.  He  has  always 
thrown  everything  away,  his  life,  his  talents,  all  his 
money  and  all  of  mine,  for  the  sake  of — throwing 
them  away !  Some  other  must  tell  you  about  that 
room;  but  it  has  ruined  my  friend.  To-night  I 
discovered  that  he  had  been  summoned  here,  and  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  come  and  take  him  away. 
Your  father  has  sworn  to  shoot  me  if  I  set  foot  in 
his  house  or  on  ground  of  his.  Well,  my  duty  was 
clear  and  I  came  to  do  it.  And  yet — I  stopped  at 
the  foot  of  the  stair — because — because  I  remem- 
bered that  you  were  Robert  Carewe's  daughter. 
What  of  you,  if  I  went  up  and  harm  came  to  me 
from  your  father?  For  I  swear  I  would  not  have 
touched  him!  You  asked  me  not  to  speak  of  *  per- 
sonal '  things,  and  I  have  obeyed  you ;  but  you  see 
I  must  tell  you  one  thing  now:  I  have  cared  for 
this  friend  of  mine  more  than  for  all  else  under 
heaven,  but  I  turned  and  left  him  to  his  ruin,  and 
would  a  thousand  times,  rather  than  bring  trouble 
[223] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

upon   you !    '  A  thousand  times  ?  '    Ah !    I   swear 
it  should  be  a  thousand  times  a  thousand !  " 

He  had  paraded  in  one  speech  from  the  prisoner's 
dock  to  Capulet's  garden,  and  her  eyes  were  shin- 
ing into  his  like  a  great  light  when  he  finished. 

"Go  quickly,"  she  whispered.  "Go  quickly! 
Go  quickly ! " 

"  But  do  you  understand?  " 

"Not  yet,  but  I  shall.  Will  you  go?  They 
might  come — my  father  might  come — at  any  mo- 
ment." 

"  But " 

"  Do  you  want  to  drive  me  quite  mad?  Please 
go !  "  She  laid  a  trembling,  urgent  hand  upon  his 
sleeve. 

"  Never,  until  you  tell  me  that  you  understand," 
replied  Crailey  firmly,  listening  keenly  for  the 
slightest  sound  from  overhead.  "  Never — until 
then!" 

"When  I  do  I  shall  tell  you;  now  I  only  know 
that  you  must  go." 

"  But  tell  me " 

"You  must  go!" 

[224] 


The  Room  m  the  Cupola 

There  was  a  shuffling  of  chairs  on  the  floor  over- 
head, and  Crailey  went.  He  went  even  more  hastily 
than  might  have  been  expected  from  the  adaman- 
tine attitude  he  had  just  previously  assumed. 
Realizing  this  as  he  reached  the  wet  path,  he  risked 
stealing  round  to  her  window : 

"  For  your  sake!  "  he  breathed ;  and  having  thus 
forestalled  any  trifling  imperfection  which  might 
arise  in  her  recollection  of  his  exit  from  the  house, 
he  disappeared,  kissing  his  hand  to  the  rain  as  he 
ran  down  the  street. 

Miss  Betty  locked  her  door  and  pulled  close  the 
curtains  of  her  window.  A  numerous  but  careful 
sound  of  footsteps  came  from  the  hall,  went  by  her 
door  and  out  across  the  veranda.  Silently  she 
waited  until  she  heard  her  father  go  alone  to  his 
room. 

She  took  the  candle  and  went  in  to  Mrs.  Tan- 
berry.  She  set  the  light  upon  a  table,  pulled  a 
chair  close  to  the  bedside,  and  placed  her  cool  hand 
lightly  on  the  great  lady's  forehead. 

"  Isn't  it  very  late,  child?  Why  are  you  not 
asleep?" 

[825] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

"  Mrs.  Tanberry,  I  want  to  know  why  there  was 
a  light  in  the  cupola-room  to-night?  " 

"  What?  "  Mrs.  Tanberry  rolled  herself  as  up- 
right as  possible,  and  sat  with  blinking  eyes. 

"  I  want  to  know  what  I  am  sure  you  know,  and 
what  I  am  sure  everybody  knows,  except  me.  What 
were  they  doing  there  to-night,  and  what  was  the 
quarrel  between  Mr.  Vanrevel  and  my  father  that 
had  to  do  with  Mr.  Gray?  " 

Mrs.  Tanberry  gazed  earnestly  into  the  girl's 
face.  After  a  long  time  she  said  in  a  gentle  voice : 

"  Child,  has  it  come  to  matter  that  much?  " 

«  Yes,"  said  Miss  Betty. 


{226] 


CHAPTER  XIII 
The  Tocsin 

TOM  VANREVEL  always  went  to  the  post- 
office  soon  after  the  morning  distribution 
of  the  mail;  that  is  to  say,  about  ten 
o'clock,  and  returned  with  the  letters  for  the  firm 
of  Gray  and  Vanrevel,  both  personal  and  official. 
Crailey  and  he  shared  everything,  even  a  box  at 
the  post-office ;  and  in  front  of  this  box,  one  morn- 
ing, after  a  night  of  rain,  Tom  stood  staring  at  a 
white  envelope  bearing  a  small,  black  seal.  The 
address  was  in  a  writing  he  had  never  seen  before, 
but  the  instant  it  fell  under  his  eye  he  was  struck 
with  a  distinctly  pleasurable  excitement. 

Whether  through  some  spiritual  exhalation  of 
the  writer  fragrant  on  any  missive,  or  because 
of  a  hundred  microscopic  impressions,  there  are 
analysts -who  are  able  to  select,  from  a  pile  of  let- 
ters written  by  women  (for  the  writing  of  women 
[227] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

exhibits  certain  phenomena  more  determinably  than 
that  of  men)  those  of  the  prettiest  or  otherwise 
most  attractive.  And  out  upon  the  lover  who  does 
not  recognize  his  mistress's  hand  at  the  first  glimpse 
ever  he  has  of  it,  without  post-mark  or  other  infor- 
mation to  aid  him !  Thus  Vanrevel,  worn,  hollow- 
eyed,  and  sallow,  in  the  Rouen  post-office,  held  the 
one  letter  separate  from  a  dozen  (the  latter  not,  in- 
deed, from  women),  and  stared  at  it  until  a  little 
color  came  back  to  his  dark  skin  and  a  great  deal  of 
brightness  to  his  eye.  He  was  no  analyst  of  hand- 
writings, yet  it  came  to  him  instantly  that  this 
note  was  from  a  pretty  woman.  To  see  that  it  was 
from  a  woman  was  simple,  but  that  he  knew — and 
he  did  know — that  she  was  pretty,  savors  of  the  oc- 
cult. More  than  this:  there  was  something  about 
it  that  thrilled  him.  Suddenly,  and  without  rea- 
son, he  knew  that  it  came  from  Elizabeth  Carewe. 

He  walked  back  quickly  to  his  office  with  the  let- 
ter in  the  left  pocket  of  his  coat,  threw  the  bundle 
of  general  correspondence  upon  his  desk,  went  up  to 
the  floor  above,  and  paused  at  his  own  door  to  lis- 
ten. Deep  breathing  from  across  the  hall  indicated 
[  228  ] 


The  Tocsin 

that  Mr.  Gray's  soul  was  still  encased  in  slumber, 
and  great  was  its  need,  as  Tom  had  found  his  part- 
ner, that  morning  at  five,  stretched  upon  the  horse- 
hair sofa  in  the  office,  lamenting  the  emptiness 
of  a  bottle  which  had  been  filled  with  fiery  Bourbon 
in  the  afternoon. 

Vanrevel  went  to  his  own  room,  locked  the  door, 
and  took  the  letter  from  his  pocket.  He  held  it 
between  his  fingers  carefully,  as  though  it  were 
alive  and  very  fragile,  and  he  looked  at  it 
a  long  time,  holding  it  first  in  one  hand,  then 
in  the  other,  before  he  opened  it.  At  last,  how- 
ever, after  examining  all  the  blades  of  his  pocket- 
knife,  he  selected  one  brighter  than  the  others,  and 
loosened  the  flap  of  the  envelope  as  gently  and 
carefully  as  if  it  had  been  the  petal  of  a  rose-bud 
that  he  was  opening. 

"DEAR  MR.  VANREVELS 

"I  believed  you  last  night,  though  I  did  not  understand. 
But  I  understand,  now — everything — and,  bitter  to  me  as  the 
truth  is,  I  must  show  you  plainly  that  I  know  all  of  it,  nor  can 
I  rest  until  I  do  show  you.  I  want  you  to  answer  this  letter — 
though  I  must  not  see  you  again  for  a  long  time— and  in  your 
[229] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

answer  you  must  set  me  right  if  I  am  anywhere  mistaken  in 
what  I  have  learned. 

"At  first,  and  until  after  the  second  time  we  met,  I  did  not 
believe  hi  your  heart,  though  I  did  in  your  mind  and  humor. 
Even  since  then,  there  have  come  strange,  small,  inexplica- 
ble mistrustings  of  you,  but  now  I  throw  them  all  away  and 
trust  you  wholly,  Monsieur  Citizen  Georges  Meilhac ! — I  shall 
always  think  of  you  in  those  impossible  garnishments  of  my 
poor  great-uncle,  and  I  persuade  myself  that  he  must  have  been 
a  little  like  you. 

"  I  trust  you  because  I  have  heard  the  story  of  your  profound 
goodness.  The  first  reason  for  my  father's  dislike  was  your 
belief  in  freedom  as  the  right  of  all  men.  Ah,  it  is  not  your 
pretty  exaggerations  and  flatteries  (I  laugh  at  them!)  that 
speak  for  you,  but  your  career,  itself,  and  the  brave  things 
you  have  done.  My  father's  dislike  flared  into  hatred  because 
you  worsted  him  when  he  discovered  that  he  could  not  success- 
fully defend  the  wrong  against  you  and  fell  back  upon  shee; 
Insult. 

"  He  is  a  man  whom  I  do  not  know — strange  as  that  seems 
as  I  write  it.  It  is  only  to  you,  who  have  taught  me  sc 
much,  that  I  could  write  it.  I  have  tried  to  know  him  and  to 
realize  that  I  am  his  daughter,  but  we  are  the  coldest  acquaint- 
ances, that  is  all ;  and  I  cannot  see  how  a  change  could  come. 
I  do  not  understand  him ;  least  of  all  do  I  understand  why  he  is 
a  gambler.  It  has  been  explained  to  me  that  it  is  his  great  pas- 
sion, but  all  I  comprehend  in  these  words  is  that  they  are  full 
of  shame  for  his  daughter. 

[230] 


The  Tocsin 

"This  is  what  was  told  me:  he  has  always  played  heavily 
and  skilfully — adding  much  to  his  estate  in  that  way — and  in 
Rouen  always  with  a  certain  coterie,  which  was  joined,  several 
years  ago,  by  the  man  you  came  to  save  last  night. 

"Your  devotion  to  Mr.  Gray  has  been  the  most  beautiful 
thing  in  your  life.  I  know  all  that  the  town  knows  of  that,  ex- 
cept the  thousand  hidden  sacrifices  you  have  made  for  him, 
those  things  which  no  one  will  ever  know.  (And  yet,  you  see, 
/  know  them  after  all !)  For  your  sake,  because  you  love  him, 
I  will  not  even  call  him  unworthy. 

"  I  have  heard — from  one  who  told  unwillingly — the  story  of 
the  night  two  years  ago,  when  the  play  ran  so  terribly  high ; 
and  how,  in  the  morning  when  they  went  away,  all  were  poorer 
except  one,  their  host ! — how  Mr.  Gray  had  nothing  left  in  the 
world,  and  owed  my  father  a  great  sum  which  was  to  be  paid 
in  twenty-four  hours ;  how  you  took  everything  you  had  saved 
in  the  years  of  hard  work  at  your  profession,  and  borrowed 
the  rest  on  your  word,  and  brought  it  to  my  father  that  after- 
noon ;  how,  when  you  had  paid  your  friend's  debt,  you  asked 
my  father  not  to  play  with  Mr.  Gray  again ;  and  my  father 
made  that  his  excuse  to  send  you  a  challenge.  You  laughed  at 
the  challenge — and  you  could  afford  to  laugh  at  it. 

"  But  this  is  all  shame,  shame  for  Robert  Carewe's  daughter. 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  should  hide  and  not  lift  my  head ;  that  I, 
being  of  my  father's  blood,  could  never  look  you  in  the  face 
again.  It  is  so  unspeakably  painful  and  ugly.  I  think  of  my 
father's  stiff  pride  and  his  look  of  the  eagle, — and  he  still  plays 
with  your  friend,  almost  always  'successfully!'  And  your 
[231] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

friend  still  comes  to  play  !— but  I  will  not  speak  of  that  side 
of  it 

"  Mr.  Gray  has  made  you  poor,  but  I  know  it  was  not  that 
which  made  you  come  seeking  him  last  night,  when  I  found 
you  there  in  the  hall.  It  was  for  his  sake  you  came — and  you 
went  away  for  mine.  Now  that  I  know,  at  last— now  that  I 
have  heard  what  your  life  has  been  (and  oh  I  heard  so  much 
more  than  I  have  written !)— now  that  my  eyes  have  been 
opened  to  see  you  as  you  are,  I  am  proud,  and  glad  and  humble 
that  I  can  believe  that  you  felt  a  friendship  for  me  strong 
enough  to  have  made  you  go  '  for  my  sake.*  You  will  write 
to  me  just  once,  won't  you?  and  tell  me  if  there  was  any 
error  in  what  I  listened  to  ;  but  you  must  not  come  to  the  gar- 
den. Now  that  I  know  you,  I  cannot  meet  you  clandestinely 
again.  It  would  hurt  the  dignity  which  I  feel  in  you  now, 
and  my  own  poor  dignity — such  as  it  is !  I  have  been  ear- 
nestly warned  of  the  danger  to  you.  Besides,  you  must  let  me 
test  myself.  I  am  all  fluttering  and  frightened  and  excited. 
You  will  obey  me,  won't  you  ? — do  not  come  until  I  send  for 
you.  ELIZABETH  CAREWE." 

Mr.  Gray,  occupied  with  his  toilet  about  noon, 
heard  his  partner  descending  to  the  office  with  a 
heavy  step,  and  issued  from  his  room  to  call  a 
hearty  greeting.  Tom  looked  back  over  his  shoul- 
der and  replied  cheerily,  though  with  a  certain  em- 
barrassment; but  Crailey,  catching  sight  of  his 
[  232  ] 


The  Tocsin 

face,  uttered  a  sharp  ejaculation  and  came  down 
to  him. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Tom?  You're  not 
going  to  be  sick?  You  look  like  the  devil  and  all!  " 

"  I'm  all  right,  never  fear !  "  Tom  laughed,  evad- 
ing the  other's  eye.  "  I'm  going  out  in  the  coun- 
try on  some  business,  and  I  dare  say  I  shall  not  be 
back  for  a  couple  of  days;  it  will  be  all  up  and 
down  the  county."  He  set  down  a  travelling-bag 
he  was  carrying,  and  offered  the  other  his  hand. 
"  Good-by." 

"  Can't  I  go  for  you?  You  don't  look  able " 

"  No,  no.  It's  something  I'll  have  to  attend  to 
myself." 

"  Ah,  I  suppose,"  said  Crailey,  gently,  "  I  sup- 
pose it's  important,  and  you  couldn't  trust  me  to 
handle  it.  Well — God  knows  you're  right!  I've 
shown  you  often  enough  how  incompetent  I  am  to 
do  anything  but  write  jingles !  " 

"  You  do  some  more  of  them — without  the  whis- 
key, Crailey.    They're  worth  more  than  all  the  law- 
ing  Gray  and  Vanrevel  have  ever  done  or  ever  will 
do.    Good-by — and  be  kind  to  yourself." 
[233] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

He  descended  to  the  first  landing,  and  then, 
"  Oh,  Crailey,"  he  called,  with  the  air  of  having 
forgotten  something  he  had  meant  to  say. 

"Yes,  Tom?" 

"  This  morning  at  the  post-office  I  found  a  let- 
ter addressed  to  me.  I  opened  it  and — "  He  hesi- 
tated, and  uneasily  shifted  his  weight  from  one  foot 
to  the  other,  with  a  feeble,  deprecatory  laugh. 

"  Yes,  what  of  it?  " 

"  Well — there  seemed  to  be  a  mistake.  I  think 
it  must  have  been  meant  for  you.  Somehow,  she — 
she's  picked  up  a  good  many  wrong  impressions, 
and,  Lord  knows  how,  but  she's  mixed  our  names  up 
and — and  I've  left  the  letter  for  you.  It's  on  my 
table." 

He  turned  and  calling  a  final  good-by  over  his 
shoulder,  went  clattering  noisily  down  to  the  street 
and  vanished  from  Crailey's  sight. 

Noon  found  Tom  far  out  on  the  National  Road, 

creaking  along  over  the  yellow  dust  in   a  light 

wagon,  between  bordering  forests  that  smelt  spicily 

of  wet  underbrush  and  May-apples ;  and,  here  and 

[234] 


The  Tocsin 

there,  when  they  would  emerge  from  the  woods  to 
cleared  fields,  liberally  outlined  by  long  snake- 
fences  of  black  walnut,  the  steady,  jog- trotting 
old  horse  lifted  his  head  and  looked  interested  in 
the  world,  but  Tom  never  did  either.  Habitually 
upright,  walking  or  sitting,  straight,  keen,  and 
alert,  that  day's  sun  saw  him  drearily  hunched 
over,  mile  after  mile,  his  forehead  laced  with  lines 
of  pain.  He  stopped  at  every  farm-house  and 
cabin,  and,  where  the  young  men  worked  in  the 
fields,  hailed  them  from  the  road,  or  hitched  his 
horse  to  the  fence  and  crossed  the  soft  furrows  to 
talk  with  them.  At  such  times  he  stood  erect 
again,  and  spoke  stirringly,  finding  eager  listeners. 
There  was  one  question  they  asked  him  over  and 
over: 

"But  are  you  sure  the  call  will  come  ?  " 
"  As  sure  as  that  we  stand  here ;  and  it  will  come 
before  the  week  is  out.     We  must  be  ready !  " 

Often,  when  he  left  them,  they  would  turn  from 
the  work  in  hand,  leaving  it  as  it  was,  to  lie  un- 
finished in  the  fields,  and  make  their  way  slowly  and 
thoughtfully  to  their  homes,  while  Tom  climbed 
[235] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

into  his  creaking  little  wagon  once  more,  only  to 
fall  into  the  same  dull,  hunched-over  attitude.  He 
had  many  things  to  think  out  before  he  faced  Rouen 
and  Crailey  Gray  again,  and  more  to  fight  through 
to  the  end  with  himself.  Three  days  he  took  for  it, 
three  days  driving  through  the  soft  May  weather 
behind  the  kind,  old  jog-trotting  horse;  three  days 
on  the  road,  from  farm-house  to  farm-house  and 
from  field  to  field,  from  cabin  of  the  woods  to  cabin 
in  the  clearing.  Tossing  unhappily  at  night,  he  lay 
sleepless  till  dawn,  though  not  because  of  the  hard 
beds;  and  when  daylight  came,  journeyed  steadily 
on  again,  over  the  vagabond  little  hills  that  had 
gypsied  it  so  far  into  the  prairie-land  in  their  wan- 
derings from  their  range  on  the  Ohio,  and,  passing 
the  hills,  went  on  through  the  flat  forest-land,  al- 
ways hunched  over  dismally  in  the  creaking 
wagon. 

But  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day  he  drove 
into  town,  with  the  stoop  out  of  his  shoulders  and 
the  lustre  back  in  his  eyes.  He  was  haggard,  gray, 
dusty,  but  he  had  solved  his  puzzle,  and  one 
thing  was  clear  in  his  mind  as  the  thing  that  he 
[236  I 


The  Tocsm 

would  do.  He  patted  the  old  horse  a  hearty  fare- 
well as  he  left  him  with  the  liveryman  from  whom 
he  had  hired  him,  and  strode  up  Main  Street  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  is  going  somewhere.  It  was 
late,  but  there  were  more  lights  than  usual  in  the 
windows  and  more  people  on  the  streets.  Boys  ran 
shouting,  while,  here  and  there,  knots  of  men  argued 
loudly,  and  in  front  of  the  little  corner  drug-store 
a  noisily  talkative,  widely  gesticulative  crowd  of 
fifty  or  more  had  gathered.  An  old  man,  a  cobbler, 
who  had  left  a  leg  at  Tippecanoe  and  replaced  it 
with  a  wooden  one,  chastely  decorated  with  designs 
of  his  own  carving,  came  stumping  excitedly  down 
the  middle  of  the  street,  where  he  walked  for  fear 
of  the  cracks  in  the  wooden  pavement,  which  were 
dangerous  to  his  art-leg  when  he  came  from  the 
Rouen  House  bar,  as  on  the  present  occasion.  He 
hailed  Tom  by  name. 

"You're  the  lad,  Tom  Vanrevel,"  he  shouted. 
"  You're  the  man  to  lead  the  boys  out  for  the  glory 
of  the  State !  You  git  the  whole  blame  Fire  De- 
partment out  and  enlist  'em  before  morning! 
Take  'em  down  to  the  Rio  Grande,  you  hear  me?. 
1237] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

And  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  their  puttin'  it  out, 
if  it  ketches  afire,  neither !  " 

Tom  waved  his  hand  and  passed  on ;  but  at  the 
open  doors  of  the  Catholic  Church  he  stopped  and 
looked  up  and  down  the  street,  and  then,  unno- 
ticed, entered  to  the  dim  interior,  where  the  few 
candles  showed  only  a  bent  old  woman  in  black 
kneeling  at  the  altar.  Tom  knew  where  Elizabeth 
Carewe  knelt  each  morning;  he  stepped  softly 
through  the  shadowy  silence  to  her  place,  knelt, 
and  rested  his  head  upon  the  rail  of  the  bench  be- 
fore him. 

The  figure  at  the  altar  raised  itself  after 
a  time,  and  the  old  woman  limped  slowly  up  a  side 
aisle,  mumbling  her  formulas,  courtesying  to  the 
painted  saints,  on  her  way  out.  The  very  thinnest 
lingerings  of  incense  hung  on  the  air,  seeming  to 
Tom  like  the  faint  odor  that  might  exhale  from  a 
heavy  wreath  of  marguerites,  worn  in  dark-brown 
hair.  Yet,  the  place  held  nothing  but  peace  and 
good-will.  And  he  found  nothing  else  in  his  own 
heart. 

[238] 


The  Tocsin 

The  street  was  quiet  when  he  emerged  from  that 
lorn  vigil ;  the  corner  groups  had  dissolved ;  shout- 
ing youths  no  longer  patrolled  the  sidewalks.  Only 
one  quarter  showed  signs  of  life:  the  little  club- 
house, where  the  windows  still  shown  brightly,  and 
whence  came  the  sound  of  many  voices  settling  the 
destinies  of  the  United  States  of  America.  Thither 
Tom  bent  his  steps,  thoughtfully,  and  with  a  quiet 
mind.  There  was  a  small  veranda  at  the  side  of 
the  house;  here  he  stood  unobserved  to  look  in 
upon  his  noisy  and  agitated  friends. 

They  were  all  there,  from  the  old  General  and 
Mr.  Bareaud,  to  the  latter's  son,  Jefferson,  and 
young  Frank  Chenoweth.  They  were  gathered 
about  a  big  table  upon  which  stood  a  punch-bowl, 
and  Trumble,  his  brow  as  angry  red  as  the  liquor 
in  the  cup  he  held,  was  proposing  a  health  to  the 
President  in  a  voice  of  fury. 

"  In  spite  of  all  the  Crailey  Grays  and  traitors 
this  side  of  hell !  "  he  finished  politely. 

Crailey  emerged  instantaneously  from  the  gen- 
eral throng  and  mounted  a  chair,  tossing  his  light 
hair  back  from  his  forehead,  his  eyes  sparkling  and 
[239] 


The  Two  Vanrevds 

happy.  "  You  find  your  own  friends  already  occu- 
pying the  place  you  mentioned,  do  you,  General?  " 
he  asked. 

General  Trumble  stamped  and  shook  his  fist. 
"  You're  a  spawn  of  Aaron  Burr !  "  he  vociferated. 
"  There's  not  a  man  here  to  stand  by  your  infernal 
doctrines.  You  sneer  at  your  own  State,  you  sneer 
at  your  own  country,  you  defile  the  sacred  ground ! 
What  are  you,  by  the  Almighty,  who  attack  your 
native  land  in  this,  her  hour  of  peril ! " 

"  Peril  to  my  native  land ! "  laughed  Crailey. 
"  From  Santa  Anna?  " 

"  The  General's  right,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  elder 
Chenoweth  indignantly,  and  most  of  the  listeners 
appeared  to  agree  with  him.  "  It's  a  poor  time  to 
abuse  the  President  when  he's  called  for  volunteers 
and  our  country  is  in  danger,  sir ! " 

"  Who  is  in  danger?  "  answered  Crailey,  lifting 
his  hand  to  still  the  clamor  of  approbation  that 
arose.  "  Is  Polk  in  danger  ?  Or  Congress  ?  But 
that  would  be  too  much  to  hope !  Do  you  expect  to 
see  the  Greasers  in  Washington?  No,  you  idiots, 
you  don't!  Yet  there'll  be  plenty  of  men  to 
[240] 


The  Tocsin 

suffer  and  die;  and  the  first  should  be  those 
who  thrust  this  war  on  us  and  poor  little 
Mexico;  but  it  won't  be  they;  the  men  who'll 
do  the  fighting  and  dying  will  be  the  country 
boys  and  the  like  of  us  from  the  towns,  while 
Mr.  Polk  sits  planning  at  the  White  House  how  he 
can  get  elected  again.  I  wish  Tom  were  here,  con- 
found you!  You  listen  to  him  because  he  always 
has  the  facts  and  I'm  just  an  embroiderer,  you 
think.  What's  become  of  the  gaudy  campaign  cry 
you  were  all  wearing  your  lungs  out  with  a  few 
months  ago?  'Fifty-four-forty  or  fight!'  Bah! 
Polk  twisted  the  lion's  tail  with  that  until  after 
election.  Then  he  saw  he  had  to  make  you  forget 
it,  or  fight  England  and  be  ruined,  so  he  forces  war 
on  Mexico,  and  the  country  does  forget  it.  That's 
it :  he  asks  three  regiments  of  volunteers  from  this 
State  to  die  of  fevers  and  get  shot,  so  that  he  can 
steal  another  country  and  make  his  own  elect  him 
again.  And  you  ask  me  to  drink  the  health  of  the 
politician  who  sits  at  home  and  sends  his  fellow- 
men  to  die  to  fix  his  rotten  jobs  for  him?  "  Crailey 
had  persuaded  himself  into  such  earnestness,  that 
[241] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

the  depth  of  his  own  feeling  almost  choked  him, 
but  he  finished  roundly  in  his  beautiful,  strong 
voice :  "  I'll  drink  for  the  good  punch's  sake — but 
that  health? — I'll  see  General  Trumble  in  heaven 
bef ore  I'll  drink  it!" 

There  rose  at  once  a  roar  of  anger  and  disap- 
proval, and  Crailey  became  a  mere  storm  centre 
amid  the  upraised  hands  gestulating  madly  at  him 
as  he  stood,  smiling  again,  upon  his  chair. 

"  This  comes  of  living  with  Tom  Vanrevel ! " 
shouted  the  General  furiously.  "  This  is  his 
damned  Abolition  teaching!  You're  only  his  echo; 
you  spend  half  your  life  playing  at  being  Van- 
revel!" 

"Where  is  Vanrevel?"  said  Tappingham 
Marsh. 

"  Ay,  where  is  he !  "  raged  Trumble,  hammering 
the  table  till  the  glasses  rang.  "  Let  him  come  and 
answer  for  his  own  teaching ;  it's  wasted  time  to  talk 
to  this  one ;  he's  only  the  pupil.  Where  is  the  trai- 
tor?" 

"  Here,"  answered  a  voice  from  the  doorway ; 
and  though  the  word  was  spoken  quietly  it  was 
[2421 


The  Tocsin 

nevertheless,  at  that  juncture,  silencing.  Everyone 
turned  toward  the  door  as  Vanrevel  entered.  But 
the  apoplectic  General,  whom  Crailey's  speech  had 
stirred  to  a  fury  beyond  control,  almost  leaped  at 
Tom's  thoat. 

"  Here's  the  tea-sipping  old  Granny,"  he  bel- 
lowed hoarsely.  (He  was  ordinarily  very  fond  of 
Tom. )  "  Here's  the  master !  Here's  the  man  whose 
example  teaches  Crailey  Gray  to  throw  mud  at  the 
flag.  He'll  stay  here  at  home  with  Crailey,  of 
course,  and  throw  more,  while  the  others  boys  march 
out  to  die  under  it." 

"  On  the  contrary,  General,"  answered  Tom, 
raising  his  voice,  "  I  think  you'll  find  Crailey  Gray 
the  first  to  enlist,  and  as  for  myself,  I've  raised 
sixty  men  in  the  country,  and  I  want  forty  more 
from  Rouen,  in  order  to  offer  the  Governor  a  full 
company.  So  it's  come  to  *  the  King,  not  the 
man ' ;  Polk  is  a  pitiful  trickster,  but  the  country 
needs  her  sons ;  that's  enough  for  us  to  know ;  and 
while  I  won't  drink  to  James  Polk  " — he  plunged 
a  cup  in  the  bowl  and  drew  it  out  brimming — 
"  I'll  empty  this  to  the  President ! " 

vm.i 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

It  was  then  that  from  fifty  throats  the  long,  wild 
shout  went  up  that  stirred  Rouen,  and  woke  the 
people  from  their  midnight  beds  for  half  a  mile 
around. 


[244] 


CHAPTER  XIV 
The  Firm  of  Gray  and  Vanrevd 

FOR  the  first  time  it  was  Crailey  who 
sat  waiting  for  Tom  to  come  home.  In 
a  chair  drawn  to  his  partner's  desk  in 
the  dusty  office,  he  half-reclined,  arms  on  the 
desk,  his  chin  on  his  clenched  fists.  To  redeem 
the  gloom  he  had  lit  a  single  candle,  which 
painted  him  dimly  against  the  complete  darkness 
of  his  own  shadow,  like  a  very  old  portrait  whose 
background  time  has  solidified  into  shapeless 
browns;  the  portrait  of  a  fair-haired  gentleman, 
the  cavalier,  or  the  Marquis,  one  might  have  said 
at  first  glance;  not  describing  it  immediately  as 
that  of  a  poet,  for  there  was  no  mark  of  art  upon 
Crailey,  not  even  in  his  hair,  for  they  all  wore  it 
rather  long  then.  Yet  there  was  a  mark  upon  him, 
never  more  vivid  than  as  he  sat  waiting  in  the  loneli- 

r«i*i 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

ness  of  that  night  for  Torn  Vanrevel ;  though  what 
the  mark  was  and  what  its  significance  might  have 
been  puzzling  to  define.  Perhaps,  after  all,  Fanchon 
Bareaud  had  described  it  best  when  she  told  Crailey 
one  day,  with  a  sudden  hint  of  apprehensive  tears, 
that  he  had  a  "  look  of  fate." 

Tom  took  his  own  time  in  coming ;  he  had  stayed 
at  the  club  to  go  over  his  lists — so  he  had  told 
Crailey — with  the  General  and  old  Bareaud.  His 
company  was  almost  complete,  and  Crailey  had 
been  the  first  to  volunteer,  to  the  dumfounding  of 
Trumble,  who  had  proceeded  to  drink  his  health 
again  and  again.  But  the  lists  could  not  detain 
Tom  two  hours,  Crailey  knew,  and  it  was  two  hours 
since  the  new  volunteers  had  sung  "  The  Star  Span- 
gled Banner  "  over  the  last  of  the  punch,  and  had 
left  the  club  to  Tom  and  the  two  old  men.  Only 
once  or  twice  in  that  time  had  Crailey  shifted  his 
position,  or  altered  the  direction  of  his  set  gaze  at 
nothing.  But  at  last  he  rose,  went  to  the  window 
and,  leaning  far  out,  looked  down  the  street  toward 
the  little  club-house.  Its  lights  were  extinguished 
and  all  was  dark  up  and  down  the  street.  Abruptly 
[246] 


The  Firm  of  Gray  and  Vanrevel 
Crailey  went  back  to  the  desk  and  blew  out  the 
candle,  after  which  he  sat  down  again  in  the  same 
position.  Twenty  minutes  later  he  heard  Tom's 
step  on  the  stair,  coming  up  very  softly.  Crailey 
waited  in  silence  until  his  partner  reached  the  land- 
ing, then  relit  the  candle. 

"  Tom,"  he  called.  "  Come  in,  please,  I've  been 
waiting  for  you." 

There  was  a  pause  before  Tom  answered  from  the 
hall: 

"  I'm  very  tired,  Crailey.  I  think  I'll  go  up  to 
bed." 

"  No,"  said  Crailey,  "  come  in." 

The  door  was  already  open,  but  Tom  turned 
toward  it  reluctantly.  He  stopped  at  the  threshold 
and  the  two  looked  at  each  other. 

"  I  thought  you  wouldn't  come  as  long  as  you 
believed  I  was  up,"  said  Crailey,  "  so  I  blew  out  the 
light.  I'm  sorry  I  kept  you  outside  so  long." 

"  Crailey,  I'm  going  away  to-morrow,"  the  other 
began.  "  I  am  to  go  over  and  see  the  Governor  and 
offer  him  this  company,  and  to-night  I  need  sleep, 

so  please " 

[847] 


The  Two  Vanrevelt 

**  No,"  interrupted  Crailey  quietly,  "  I  want  t« 
know  what  you're  going  to  do." 

"  To  do  about  what?  " 

"  About  me." 

'*  Oh !  "  Tom's  eyes  fell  at  once  from  his  friend's 
face  and  rested  upon  the  floor.  Slowly  he  walked 
to  the  desk  and  stood  in  embarrassed  contemplation 
of  the  littered  books  and  papers,  while  the  other 
waited. 

"  I  think  it's  best  for  you  to  tell  me,"  said 
Crailey. 

"You  think  so?"  Tom's  embarrassment  in- 
creased visibly,  and  there  was  mingled  with  it  an 
odd  appearance  of  apprehension,  probably  to  re- 
lieve which  he  very  deliberately  took  two  long  che- 
roots from  his  pocket,  laid  one  on  the  desk  for 
Crailey  and  lit  the  other '  himself,  with  extreme 
carefulness,  at  the  candle.  After  this  ceremonial 
he  dragged  a  chair  to  the  window,  tilted  back  in  it 
with  his  feet  on  the  low  sill,  his  back  to  the  thin 
light  and  his  friend,  and  said  in  a  slow, 
tone: 

"Well,  Crailey?" 

[848] 


The  Firm  of  Gray  and  Vanrevel 
"  I  suppose  you  mean  that  I  ought  to  offer  my 
explanation  first,"  said  the  other,  still  standing. 
"  Well,  there  isn't  any."  He  did  not  speak  dog- 
gedly or  sullenly,  as  one  in  fault,  but  more  with  the 
air  of  a  man  curiously  ready  to  throw  all  possible 
light  upon  a  cloudy  phenomenon.  "  It's  very  sim- 
ple— all  that  I  know  about  it.  I  went  there  first 
on  the  evening  of  the  Madrillon  masquerade  and 
played  a  little  comedy  for  her,  so  that  some  of  my 
theatrical  allusions — they  weren't  very  illuminat- 
ing ! — to  my  engagement  to  Fanchon,  made  her  be- 
lieve I  was  Vanrevel  when  her  father  told  her  about 
the  pair  of  us.  I  discovered  that  the  night  his 
warehouses  burned — and  I  saw  something  more,  be- 
cause I  can't  help  seeing  such  things:  that  yours 
was  just  the  character  to  appeal  to  a  young  girl 
fresh  from  the  convent  and  full  of  honesty  and 
fine  dreams  and  fire.  Nobody  could  arrange  a  more 
fatal  fascination  for  a  girl  of  nineteen  than  to  have 
a  deadly  quarrel  with  her  father.  And  that's  es- 
pecially true  when  the  father's  like  that  mad  brute 
of  a  Bob  Carewe !  Then,  too,  you're  more  or  less 
the  town  model  of  virtue  and  popular  hero,  in  spite 
[249] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

of  the  Abolitionism,  just  as  I  am  the  town  scamp. 
So  I  let  it  go  on,  and  played  a  little  at  being  you, 
saying  the  things  that  you  only  think — that  was 
all.  It  isn't  strange  that  it's  lasted  until  now,  not 
more  than  three  weeks,  after  all.  She's  only  seen 
you  four  or  five  times,  and  me  not  much  oftener. 
No  one  speaks  of  you  to  her,  and  I've  kept  out  of 
sight  when  others  were  about.  Mrs.  Tanberry  is 
her  only  close  friend,  and,  naturally,  wouldn't  be 
apt  to  mention  that  you  are  dark  and  I  am  fair,  or 
to  describe  us  personally,  any  more  than  you  and  I 
would  mention  the  general  appearance  of  people 
we  both  meet  about  town.  But  you  needn't  tell  me 
that  it  can't  last  much  longer.  Some  petty,  unex- 
pected trifle  will  turn  up,  of  course.  All  that  I 
want  to  know  is  what  you  mean  to  do." 

"  To  do?  "  repeated  Tom  softly,  and  blew  a  long 
scarf  of  smoke  out  of  the  window. 

"  Ah !  "  Crailey's  voice  grew  sharp  and  loud. 
"  There  are  many  things  you  needn't  tell  me !  You 
need  not  tell  me  what  I've  done  to  you — nor  what 
you  think  of  me!  You  need  not  tell  me  that  you 
have  others  to  consider ;  that  you  have  Miss  Carewe 
[250] 


The  Firm  of  Gray  and  Vanrevel 
to  think  of.     Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that? 
And  you  need  not  tell  me  that  you  have  a  duty  to 
Fanchon ' ' 

"  Yes,"  Tom  broke  in,  his  tone  not  quite  steady. 
"  Yes,  I've  thought  of  that." 

"Well?" 

"  Have  you — did  you — "  he  hesitated,  but 
Crailey  understood  immediately. 

"  No ;  I  haven't  seen  her  again." 

"  But  you " 

"  Yes— I  wrote.    I  answered  the  letter." 

"  Yes ;  I  signed  your  name.  I  told  you  that  I 
had  just  let  things  go  on,"  Crailey  answered,  with 
an  impatient  movement  of  his  hands.  "  What  are 
you  going  to  do?" 

"  I'm  going  over  to  see  the  Governor  in  the 
morning.  I'll  be  away  two  or  three  days,  I  im- 
agine." 

"Vanrevel!"  exclaimed  Crailey  hotly,  "Will 
you  give  me  an  answer  and  not  beat  about  the  bush 
any  longer?  Or  do  you  mean  that  you  refuse  to 
answer?  " 

[251] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

Tom  dropped  his  cigar  upon  the  brick  window- 
ledge  with  an  abysmal  sigh.  "  Oh,  no,  it  isn't 
that,"  he  answered  mildly.  "  I've  been  thinking  it 
all  over  for  three  days  in  the  country,  and  when  I 
got  back  to-night  I  found  that  I  had  come  to  a 
decision  without  knowing  it,  and  that  I  had  come  to 
it  even  before  I  started;  my  leaving  the  letter  for 
you  proved  it.  It's  a  little  like  this  Mexican  war,  a 
mixed-up  problem  and  only  one  thing  clear.  A  few 
schemers  have  led  the  country  into  it  to  increase 
the  slave-pr/wer  and  make  us  forget  that  we  threat- 
ened England  when  we  couldn't  carry  out  the 
threat.  And  yet,  if  you  look  at  it  broadly,  these 
are  the  smaller  things  and  they  do  not  last.  The 
means  by  which  the  country  grows  may  be  wrong, 
but  its  growth  is  right ;  it  is  only  destiny,  working 
out  through  lies  and  blood,  but  the  end  will  be 
good.  It  is  bound  to  happen  and  you  can't  stop 
it.  I  believe  the  men  who  make  this  war  for  their 
own  uses  will  suffer  in  hell-fire  for  it;  but  it  is 
made,  and  there's  only  one  thing  I  can  see  as  the 
thing  for  me  to  do.  They've  called  me  every 
name  on  earth — and  the  same  with  you,  too,  Crai- 


The  Firm  of  Gray  and  Vanrevel 
ley — because  I'm  an  Abolitionist,  but  now,  whether 
the  country  has  sinned  or  not,  a  good  many  thou- 
sand men  have  got  to  do  the  bleeding  for  her,  and 
I  want  to  be  one  of  them.  That's  the  one  thing 
that  is  plain  to  me." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Crailey.  «  You  know  I'm  with 
you ;  and  I  think  you're  always  right.  Yes ;  we'll 
all  be  on  the  way  in  a  fortnight  or  so.  Do  you 
mean  you  won't  quarrel  with  me  because  of  that? 
Do  you  mean  it  would  be  a  poor  time  now,  when 
we're  all  going  out  to  take  our  chances  together?  " 

"  Quarrel  with  you !  "  Tom  rose  and  came  to  the 
desk,  looking  across  it  at  his  friend.  "  Did  you 
think  I  might  do  that?  " 

"  Yes— I  thought  so." 

"  Crailey ! "  And  now  Tom's  expression  showed 
desperation ;  it  was  that  of  a  man  whose  apprehen- 
sions have  culminated  and  who  is  forced  to  face  a 
crisis  long  expected,  long  averted,  but  imminent 
at  last.  His  eyes  fell  from  Crailey's  clear  gaze 
and  his  hand  fidgeted  among  the  papers  on  the 
desk. 

"  No,"  he  began  with  a  painful  lameness  and  hes- 
[253] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

itation.  "  I  did  not  mean  it — no ;  I  meant,  that,  in 
the  same  way,  only  one  thing  in  this  other — this 
other  affair  that  seems  so  confused  and  is  such  a 
problem — only  one  thing  has  grown  clear.  It 
doesn't  seem  to  me  that — that — "  here  he  drew  a 
deep  breath,  before  he  went  on  with  increasing 
nervousness — "  that  if  you  like  a  man  and  have 
lived  with  him  a  good  many  years ;  that  is  to  say, 
if  you're  really  much  of  a  friend  to  him,  I  don't 
believe  you  sit  on  a  high  seat  and  judge  him.  Judg- 
ing, and  all  that,  haven't  much  part  in  it.  And  it 
seems  to  me  that  you've  got  yourself  into  a  pretty 
bad  mix-up,  Crailey." 

"  Yes,"  said  Crailey.  "  It's  pretty  bad." 
"Well,"  Tom  looked  up  now,  with  an  almost 
tremulous  smile,  "  I  believe  that  is  about  all  I  can 
make  of  it.  Do  you  think  it's  the  part  of  your 
best  friend  to  expose  you?  It  seems  to  me  that  if 
there  ever  was  a  time  when  I  ought  to  stand  by  you, 
it's  now." 

There  was  a  silence  while  they  looked  at  each 
other  across  the  desk  in  the  faint  light.    Tom's  eyes 
fell  again  as  Crailey  opened  his  lips. 
[254] 


The  Firm  of  Gray  and  Vanrevel 
"  And   in    spite    of   everything,"    Crailey   said 

breathlessly,  "you  mean  that  you  won't  tell?" 
"  How  could  I,  Crailey?  "  said  Tom  Vanrevel  as 

he  turned  away. 


CHAPTER  XV 

When  June  Came 

M  Methought  I  met  a  Damsel  Fair 

And  tears  were  in  her  eyes  ; 
Her  head  and  arms  were  bare, 
I  heard  her  bursting  sighs. 

«« I  stopped  and  looked  her  in  the  face, 

'Twos  then  she  sweetly  smiled. 
Her  features  shone  with  mournful  grace, 
Far  more  than  Nature's  child. 

««  With  diffident  and  downcast  eye, 

In  modest  tones  she  spoke; 
She  wiped  a  tear  and  gave  a  sigh, 
And  then  her  silence  broke " 

SO  sang  Mrs.  Tanberry  at  the  piano,  reliev- 
ing   the    melancholy    which    possessed    her; 
but   Nelson,  pausing  in  the  hall  to  listen, 
and  exceedingly  curious  concerning  the  promised 
utterance  of  the  Damsel  Fair,  was  to  suffer  disap- 
(256] 


When  June  Came 

pointment,  as  the  ballad  was  broken  off  abruptly 
and  the  songstress  closed  the  piano  with  a  mon- 
strous clatter.  Little  doubt  may  be  entertained 
that  the  noise  was  designed  to  disturb  Mr.  Carewe, 
who  sat  upon  the  veranda  consulting  a  brown 
Principe,  and  less  that  the  intended  insult  was 
accomplished.  For  an  expression  of  a  vindictive 
nature  was  precipitated  in  that  quarter  so  simul- 
taneously that  the  bang  of  the  piano-lid  and  the 
curse  were  even  as  the  report  of  a  musket  and 
the  immediate  cry  of  the  wounded. 

Mrs.  Tanberry  at  once  debouched  upon  the 
piazza,  showing  a  vast,  clouded  countenance.  "  And 
I  hope  to  heaven  you  already  had  a  headache ! " 
she  exclaimed. 

"  The  courtesy  of  your  wish,  madam,"  Carewe 
replied,  with  an  angry  flash  of  his  eye,  "  is  only 
equalled  by  the  kindness  of  heaven  in  answering  it. 
I  have,  in  fact,  a  headache.  I  always  have,  nowa- 
days." 

"  That's  good  news,"  returned  the  lady  heartily. 

"  I  thank  you,"  retorted  her  host. 

"Perhaps  if  you  treated  your  daughter  with 
I  257] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

even  a  decent  Indian's  kind  of  politeness,  you'd  en- 
joy better  health." 

"  Ah !  And  in  what  failure  to  perform  my  duty 
toward  her  have  I  incurred  your  displeasure?  " 

"Where  is  she  now?"  exclaimed  the  other  ex- 
citably. "  Where  is  she  now  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say." 

"Yes,  you  can,  Robert  Carewe!"  Mrs.  Tan- 
berry  retorted,  with  a  wrathful  gesture.  "  You 
know  well  enough  she's  in  her  own  room,  and  so 
do  I — for  I  tried  to  get  in  to  comfort  her  when 
I  heard  her  crying.  She's  in  there  with  the  door 
bolted,  where  you  drove  her ! " 

"  I  drove  her !  "  he  sneered. 

"  Yes,  you  did,  and  I  heard  you.  Do  you  think 
I  couldn't  hear  you  raging  and  storming  at  her  like 
a  crazy  man?  When  you  get  in  a  temper  do  you 
dream  there's  a  soul  in  the  neighborhood  who 
doesn't  know  it?  You're  a  fool  if  you  do,  because 
they  could  have  heard  you  swearing  down  on  Main 
Street,  if  they'd  listened.  What  are  you  trying  to 
do  to  her? — break  her  spirit? — or  what?  Because 
you'll  do  it,  or  kill  her.  I  never  heard  anybody 
12581 


When  June  Came 

cry  so  heart-brokenly."  Here  the  good  woman's 
own  eyes  filled.  "  What's  the  use  of  pretend- 
ing ?  "  she  went  on  sorrowfully.  "  You  haven't 
spoken  to  her  kindly  since  you  came  home.  Do 
you  suppose  I'm  blind  to  that?  You  weren't  a 
bad  husband  to  the  poor  child's  mother ;  why  can't 
you  be  a  good  father  to  her?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  might  begin  by  asking  her  to  be 
a  good  daughter  to  me." 

"What  has  she  done?" 

"  The  night  before  I  went  away  she  ran  to  a 
fire  and  behaved  there  like  a  common  street  hoyden. 
The  ladies  of  the  Carewe  family  have  not  formerly 
acquired  a  notoriety  of  that  kind." 

"  Bah!  "  said  Mrs.  Tanberry. 

"  The  next  morning,  when  I  taxed  her  with  it, 
she  dutifully  defied  and  insulted  me." 

"  I  can  imagine  the  delicacy  with  which  you 
*  taxed  '  her.  What  has  that  to  do  with  your  dev- 
ilish tantrums  of  this  afternoon,  Robert  Carewe?  " 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  the  expression,"  he 
returned.     "  When  I  came  home,  this  afternoon,  I 
found  her  reading  that  thing."     He  pointed  to 
[259] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

many  very  small  fragments  of  Mr.  Cummings's 
newspaper,  which  were  scattered  about  the  lawn 
near  the  veranda.  "  She  was  out  here,  reading 
an  article  which  I  had  read  down-town  and  which 
appeared  in  a  special  edition  of  that  rotten  sheet, 
sent  out  two  hours  ago." 

"Well?" 

"  Do  you  know  what  that  article  was,  madam, 
do  you  know  what  it  was?  "  Although  breath- 
ing heavily,  Mr.  Carewe  had  compelled  himself 
to  a  certain  outward  calmness,  but  now,  in  the 
uncontrollable  agitation  of  his  anger,  he  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  struck  one  of  the  wooden  pil- 
lars of  the  porch  a  shocking  blow  with  the  bare 
knuckles  of  his  clenched  hand.  "  Do  you  know 
what  it  was?  It  was  a  eulogy  of  that  damned 
Vanrevel!  It  pretended  to  be  an  account  of  the 
enrollment  of  his  infernal  company,  but  it  was 
nothing  more  than  a  glorification  of  that  nigger- 
loving  hound!  His  company — a  lot  of  sneaks, 
who'll  run  like  sheep  from  the  first  Greaser — 
elected  him  captain  yesterday,  and  to-day  he  re- 
ceived an  appointment  as  major!  It  dries  the 


When  June  Came 

blood  in  my  veins  to  think  of  it! — that  black  dog 
a  major!  Good  God!  am  I  never  to  hear  the 
last  of  him?  Cummings  wrote  it,  the  fool,  the  ly- 
ing, fawning,  slobbering  fool;  he  ought  to  be  shot 
for  it!  Neither  he  nor  his  paper  ever  enter  my 
doors  again !  And  I  took  the  dirty  sheet  from  her 
hands  and  tore  it  to  pieces " 

"  Yes,"  interposed  Mrs.  Tanberry,  "  it  looks  as 
if  you  had  done  it  with  your  teeth." 

"  — And  stamped  it  into  the  ground !  " 

"  Oh,  I  heard  you !  "  she  said. 

Carewe  came  close  to  her,  and  gave  her  a  long 
look  from  such  bitter  eyes  that  her  own  fell  be- 
fore them.  "If  you've  been  treacherous  to  me, 
Jane  Tanberry,"  he  said,  "  then  God  punish  you ! 
If  they've  met — my  daughter  and  that  man — • 
while  I  was  away,  it  is  on  your  head.  I  don't  ask 
you,  because  I  believe  if  you  knew  anything  you'd 
lie  for  her  sake.  But  I  tell  you  that  as  she  read 
that  paper,  she  did  not  hear  my  step  on  the  walk 
nor  know  that  I  was  there  until  I  leaned  over  her 
shoulder.  And  I  swear  that  I  suspect  her." 

He  turned  and  walked  to  the  door,  while  the 
[861] 


The  Two  Vanrevds 

indomitable  Mrs.  Tanberry,  silenced  for  once,  sank 
into  the  chair  he  had  vacated.  Before  he  disap- 
peared within  the  house,  he  paused. 

"  If  Mr.  Vanrevel  has  met  my  daughter,"  he 
said,  in  a  thick  voice,  stretching  out  both  hands  in 
a  strange,  menacing  gesture  toward  the  town  that 
lay  darkling  in  the  growing  dusk,  "  if  he  has  ad- 
dressed one  word  to  her,  or  so  much  as  allowed  his 
eyes  to  rest  on  her  overlong,  let  him  take  care  of 
himself!" 

"  Oh,  Robert,  Robert,"  Mrs.  Tanberry  cried,  in 
a  frightened  whisper  to  herself,  "  all  the  fun  and 
brightness  went  out  of  the  world  when  you  came 
home!" 

For,  in  truth,  the  gayety  and  light-heartedness 
which,  during  the  great  lady's  too  brief  reign,  had 
seemed  a  vital  adjunct  of  the  house  to  make  the 
place  resound  with  music  and  laughter,  were  now 
departed.  No  more  did  Mrs.  Tanberry  extempo- 
rize Dan  Tuckers,  mazourkas,  or  quadrilles  in  the 
ball-room,  nor  Blind-Man's  Buff  in  the  library ;  no 
more  did  serenaders  nightly  seek  the  garden  with 
instrumental  plunkings  and  vocal  gifts  of  har- 
[262] 


When  June  Came 

mony.  Even  the  green  bronze  boy  of  the  fountain 
seemed  to  share  the  timidity  of  the  other  youths 
of  the  town  where  Mr.  Carewe  was  concerned,  for 
the  goblet  he  held  aloft  no  longer  sent  a  lively 
stream  leaping  into  the  sunshine  in  translucent 
gambols,  but  dribbled  and  dripped  upon  him 
like  a  morbid  autumn  rain.  The  depression  of 
the  place  was  like  a  drape  of  mourning  purple; 
but  not  that  house  alone  lay  glum,  and  there 
were  other  reasons  than  the  return  of  Rob- 
ert Carewe  why  Rouen  had  lost  the  joy  and  mirth 
that  belonged  to  it.  Nay,  the  merry  town  had 
changed  beyond  all  credence;  it  was  hushed  like 
a  sick-room,  and  dolefully  murmurous  with  fore- 
bodings of  farewell  and  sorrow. 

For  all  the  very  flower  of  Rouen's  youth  had 
promised  to  follow  Tom  Vanrevel  on  the  long  and 
arduous  journey  to  Mexico,  to  march  burning 
miles  under  the  tropical  sun,  to  face  strange  fevers 
and  the  guns  of  Santa  Anna. 

Few  were  the  houses   of  the  more  pretentious 
sort  that  did  not  mourn,  in  prospect,  the  going 
of  son,  or  brother,  or  close  friend ;  mothers  already 
[263] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

wept  not  in  secret,  fathers  talked  with  Husky 
bravado;  and  everyone  was  very  kind  to  those  who 
were  to  go,  speaking  to  them  gently  and  bringing 
them  little  foolish  presents.  Nor  could  the  hearts 
of  girls  now  longer  mask  as  blocks  of  ice  to  the 
prospective  conquist adores;  Eugene  Madrillon's 
young  brother,  Jean,  after  a  two  years'  Beatrice- 
and-Benedict  wooing  of  Trixie  Chenoweth  (that 
notable  spitfire)  announced  his  engagement  upon 
the  day  after  his  enlistment,  and  recounted  to  all 
who  would  listen  how  his  termagant  fell  upon  his 
neck  in  tears  when  she  heard  the  news.  "And 
now  she  cries  about  me  all  the  time,"  finished  the 
frank  Jean  blithely. 

But  there  was  little  spirit  for  the  old  merri- 
ments: there  were  no  more  carpet-dances  at  the 
Bareauds',  no  masquerades  at  the  Madrillons',  no 
picnics  in  the  woods  nor  excursions  on  the  river; 
and  no  more  did  light  feet  bear  light  hearts 
through  the  "  mazes  of  the  intricate  schottische, 
the  subtle  mazourka,  or  the  stately  quadrille,"  as 
Will  Cummings  remarked  in  the  Journal.  Fan- 
chon,  Virginia,  and  five  or  six  others,  spent  their 


When  June  Came 

afternoons  mournfully,  and  yet  proudly,  sewing 
and  cutting  large  pieces  of  colored  silk,  fashion- 
ing a  great  flag  for  their  sweethearts  and  brothers 
to  bear  southward  and  plant  where  stood  the  pal- 
ace of  the  Montezumas. 

That  was  sad  work  for  Fanchon,  though  it  was 
not  for  her  brother's  sake  that  she  wept,  since,  as 
everyone  knew,  Jefferson  was  already  so  full  of 
malaria  and  quinine  that  the  fevers  of  the  South 
and  Mexico  must  find  him  invulnerable,  and  even 
his  mother  believed  he  would  only  thrive  and  grow 
hearty  on  his  soldiering.  But  about  Crailey, 
Fanchon  had  a  presentiment  more  vivid  than  any 
born  of  the  natural  fears  for  his  safety;  it  came 
to  her  again  and  again,  reappearing  in  her 
dreams;  she  shivered  and  started  often  as  she 
worked  on  the  flag,  then  bent  her  fair  head  low 
over  the  gay  silks,  while  the  others  glanced  at  her 
sympathetically.  She  had  come  to  feel  quite  sure 
that  Crailey  was  to  be  shot. 

"  But  I've  dreamed  it — dreamed  it  six  times !  " 
she  cried,  when  he  laughed  at  her  and  tried  to 
cheer  her.     "  And  it  comes  to  me  in  the  day-time 
[265] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

as  though  I  saw  it  with  my  eyes:  the  picture  of 
you  in  an  officer's  uniform,  lying  on  the  fresh, 
green  grass,  and  a  red  stain  just  below  the  throat." 

"  That  shows  what  dreams  are  made  of,  dear 
lady,"  he  smiled.  "  We'll  find  little  green  grass 
in  Mexico,  and  I'm  only  a  corporal;  so  where's 
the  officer's  uniform?" 

Then  Fanchon  wept  the  more,  and  put  her  arms 
about  him,  while  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  must 
cling  to  him  so  forever  and  thus  withhold  him  from 
fulfilling  her  vision,  and  that  the  gentle  pressure 
of  her  arms  must  somehow  preserve  him  to  life 
and  to  her.  "  Ah,  you  can't  go,  darling,"  she 
sobbed,  while  he  petted  her  and  tried  to  soothe 
her.  *' You  can't  leave  me!  You  belong  to  me! 
They  canrft,  carCt,  can't  take  you  away  from 
me!" 

And  when  the  flag  was  completed,  save  for  sew- 
ing the  stars  upon  the  blue  ground,  she  took  it 
away  from  the  others  and  insisted  upon  finishing 
the  work  herself.  To  her  own  room  she  carried  it, 
and  each  of  the  white  stars  that  the  young  men 
of  Rouen  were  to  follow  in  the  struggle  that  would 
[266] 


When  June  Came 

add  so  many  others  to  the  constellation,  was  jew- 
elled with  her  tears  and  kissed  by  her  lips  as  it 
took  its  place  with  its  brothers.  Never  were  neater 
stitches  taken,  for,  with  every  atom  of  her  body 
yearning  to  receive  the  shot  that  was  destined  for 
Crailey,  this  quiet  sewing  was  all  that  she  could  do ! 
She  would  have  followed  him,  to  hold  a  parasol 
over  him  under  the  dangerous  sun,  to  cook  his 
meals  properly,  to  watch  over  him  with  medicines 
and  blankets  and  a  fan;  she  would  have  followed 
barefoot  and  bareheaded,  and  yet,  her  heart 
breaking  with  the  crucial  yearning  to  mother  him 
and  protect  him,  this  was  all  that  she  could  do  for 
him,  this  small  stitching  at  the  flag  he  had  prom- 
ised to  follow. 

When  the  work  was  quite  finished,  she  went  all 
over  it  again  with  double  thread,  not  facing 
the  superstition  of  her  motive,  which  was  to  safe- 
guard her  lover:  the  bullet  that  was  destined  for 
Crailey  might,  in  the  myriad  chances,  strike 
the  flag  first  and  be  deflected,  though  never  so 
slightly,  by  one  of  these  last  stitches,  and  Crailey's 
heart  thus  missed  by  the  same  margin. 
[267] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

It  was  at  this  juncture,  when  the  weeping  of 
women  was  plentiful,  when  old  men  pulled  long 
faces,  and  the  very  urchins  of  the  street  observed 
periods  of  gravity  and  even  silence,  that  a  notion 
entered  the  head  of  Mrs.  Tanberry — young  Janie 
Tanberry — to  the  effect  that  such  things  were  all 
wrong.  She  declared  energetically  that  this  was  no 
decent  fashion  of  farewell;  that  after  the  soldiers 
went  away  there  would  be  time  enough  to  enact 
the  girls  they  had  left  behind  them;  and  that, 
until  then,  the  town  should  be  made  enlivening. 
So  she  went  about  preaching  a  revival  of  cheer- 
fulness, waving  her  jewelled  hand  merrily  from 
the  Carewe  carriage  to  the  volunteers  she  saw  upon 
the  street,  calling  out  to  them  with  laughter  and 
inspiring  quip;  everywhere  scolding  the  mourners 
viciously  in  her  husky  voice,  and  leaving  so  much 
of  heartening  vivacity  in  her  wake  that  none  could 
fail  to  be  convinced  that  she  was  a  wise  woman. 

Nor  was  her  vigor  spent  in  vain.  It  was  decided 
that  a  ball  should  be  given  to  the  volunteers  of 
Rouen  two  nights  before  their  departure  for  the 
State  rendezvous,  and  it  should  be  made  the  no- 


When  June  Came 

blest  festival  in  Rouen's  history;  the  subscribers 
took  their  oath  to  it.  They  rented  the  big  dining- 
room  at  the  Rouen  House,  covered  the  floor  with 
smooth  cloth,  and  hung  the  walls  solidly  with  ban- 
ners and  roses,  for  June  had  come.  More,  they 
ran  a  red  carpet  across  the  sidewalk  (which  was 
perfectly  dry  and  clean)  almost  to  the  other  side 
of  the  street;  they  imported  two  extra  fiddles  and 
a  clarionet  to  enlarge  the  orchestra ;  and  they  com- 
manded a  supper  such  as  a  hungry  man  beholds 
in  a  dream. 

Miss  Betty  laid  out  her  prettiest  dress  that  even- 
ing, and  Mrs.  Tanberry  came  in  and  worshipped 
it  as  it  rested,  like  foam  of  lavender  and  white 
and  gray,  upon  the  bed,  beside  the  snowy  gloves 
with  their  tiny,  stiff  lace  gauntlets,  while  two  small 
white  sandal-slippers,  with  jewelled  buckles  where 
the  straps  crossed  each  other,  were  being  fastened 
upon  Miss  Betty's  silken  feet  by  the  vain  and 
gloating  Mamie. 

"  It's   a  wicked   cruelty,   Princess !  "    exclaimed 
Mrs.    Tanberry.      "  We  want  to  cheer  the  poor 
fellows  and  help  them  to  be  gay,  and  here  do  you 
[269] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

Beliberately  plan  to  make  them  sick  at  the  thought 
of  leaving  the  place  that  holds  you !  Or  have  you 
discovered  that  there's  one  poor  vagabond  of  the 
band  getting  off  without  having  his  heart  broken, 
and  made  up  your  mind  to  do  it  for  him  to- 
night? " 

"Is  father  to  go  with  us?"  asked  Betty.  It 
was  through  Mrs.  Tanberry  that  she  now  derived 
all  information  concerning  Mr.  Carewe,  as  he  had 
not  directly  addressed  her  since  the  afternoon 
when  he  discovered  her  reading  the  Journal's  extra. 

"  No,  we  are  to  meet  him  there.  He  seems 
rather  pleasanter  than  usual  this  evening,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Tanberry,  hopefully,  as  she  retired. 

"  Den  we  mus'  git  ready  to  share  big  trouble 
to-morrer ! "  commented  the  kneeling  Mamie,  with 
a  giggle. 

Alas!  poor  adoring  servitress,  she  received  a 
share  unto  herself  that  very  evening,  for  her 
young  mistress,  usually  as  amiable  as  a  fair  sum- 
mer sky,  fidgetted,  grumbled,  found  nothing  well 
done,  and  was  never  two  minutes  in  the  same  mind. 
After  donning  the  selected  dress,  she  declared  it  a 
[270] 


When  June  Came 

fright,  tried  two  others,  abused  each  roundly,  dis- 
missed her  almost  weeping  handmaiden  abruptly, 
and  again  put  on  the  first.  Sitting  down  to  the 
mirror,  she  spent  a  full  hour  over  the  arrangement 
of  her  hair,  looking  attentively  at  her  image,  some- 
times with  the  beginning  of  doubtful  approval, 
often  angrily,  and,  now  and  then,  beseechingly, 
imploring  it  to  be  lovely. 

When  Mrs.  Tanberry  came  in  to  tell  her  that 
Nelson  was  at  the  block  with  the  carriage,  Miss 
Betty  did  not  turn,  and  the  elder  lady  stopped 
on  the  threshold  and  gave  a  quick,  asthmatic  gasp 
of  delight.  For  the  picture  she  saw  was,  without 
a  doubt  in  the  world,  what  she  proclaimed  it,  a 
moment  later,  ravishingly  pretty:  the  girlish  lit- 
tle pink  and  white  room  with  all  its  dainty  settings 
for  a  background,  lit  by  the  dozen  candles  in  their 
sconces  and  half  as  many  slender  silver  candle- 
sticks, and,  seated  before  the  twinkling  mirror,  the 
beautiful  Miss  Carewe,  in  her  gown  of  lace  and 
flounces  that  were  crisp,  yet  soft,  her  rope  of 
pearls,  her  white  sandals,  and  all  the  glory  of  her 
youth.  She  had  wound  a  wreath  of  white  roses 
[271] 


The  Two  Vanrevel* 

into  her  hair,  her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  her  eyes 
warm  and  glowing,  yet  inscrutable  in  their  long 
gaze  into  the  mirror. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Tanberry,  "  you  make  me  want 
to  be  a  man!  I'd  pick  you  up  and  run  to  the 
North  Pole,  where  no  one  could  ever  follow.  And 
I  can  tell  you  that  it  hurts  not  to  throw  my  arms 
round  you  and  kiss  you ;  but  you're  so  exquisite  I 
don't  want  to  touch  you !  " 

In  answer,  Miss  Betty  ran  to  her  and  kissed  her 
rapturously  on  both  cheeks.  "  Am  I — after  all?  " 
she  cried.  "  Am  I?  Is  it?  Will  the  roses  do?  " 
And  without  heeding  her  companion's  staccatoes  of 
approval  she  went  rapidly  to  the  open  bureau, 
snatched  up  a  double  handful  of  ribbons  and  fur- 
belows, and  dashed  out  of  the  room  in  search  of 
the  disgraced  Mamie.  She  found  her  seated  on 
the  kitchen  door-step  in  lonely  lamentation,  and 
showered  the  gifts  into  her  lap,  while  the  vain  one 
shrieked  inimitably  with  pride  in  the  sudden  vision 
of  her  mistress  and  joy  of  the  incredible  posses- 
sions. 

"Here,  and  here,  and  here!"  said  Miss  Betty, 


When  June  Came 

fn  a  breath,  hurling  the  fineries  upon  her.  "  I'm 
an  evil-tongued  shrew,  Mamie,  and  these  aren't  to 
make  up  for  the  pain  I  gave  you,  but  just  to  show 
that  I'd  like  to  if  I  knew  how !  Good-by !  "  And 
she  was  off  like  an  April  breeze. 

"  Dance  wid  the  han'somdest,"  screamed  Mamie, 
pursuing  uproariously  to  see  the  last  of  her  as  she 
jumped  into  the  carriage,  "  bow  to  de  wittriest, 
an'  kiss  de  one  you  love  de  bes' !  " 

"That  will  be  you!"  said  Miss  Betty  to  Mrs. 
Tanberry,  and  kissed  the  good  lady  again. 


[273] 


CHAPTER  XVI 
"  Those  Endearing  Young  Charms1* 

IT  is  a  matter  not  of  notoriety  but  of  the 
happiest  celebrity  that  Mrs.  Tanberry  danced 
that  night;  and  not  only  that  she  danced,  but 
that  she  waltzed.  To  the  lot  of  Tappingham 
Marsh  (whom  she  pronounced  the  most  wheedling 
vagabond,  next  to  Crailey  Gray,  of  her  acquaint- 
ance) it  fell  to  persuade  her;  and,  after  walking 
a  quadrille  with  the  elder  Chenoweth,  she  waltzed 
with  Tappingham.  More  extraordinary  to  re- 
late, she  danced  down  both  her  partner  and  the 
music.  Thereupon  did  Mr.  Bareaud,  stung  with 
envy,  dare  emulation  and  essay  a  schottische 
with  Miss  Trixie  Chenoweth,  performing  mar- 
vellously well  for  many  delectable  turns  before  he 
unfortunately  fell  down.  It  was  a  night  when  a 
sculptured  god  would  have  danced  on  his  pedestal : 
June,  but  not  over-warm,  balm  in  the  air  and  rose- 
[274] 


"  Those  Endearing  Young  Charms  " 
leaves  on  the  breeze;  and   even  Minerva's   great 
heels  might  have  marked  the  time  that  orchestra 
kept.     Be  sure  they  waltzed  again  to  "  Those  En- 
dearing Young  Charms " : 

"  Oh,  the  heart  that  has  truly  loved  never  forgets, 

But  as  truly  loves  on  to  the  close: 
As  the  sunflower  turns  on  her  god  when  he  sets, 
The  same  look  that  she  gave  when  he  rose." 

Three  of  the  volunteers  were  resplendent  in  their 
regimentals:  Mr.  Marsh  (who  had  been  elected 
captain  of  the  new  company  to  succeed  Vanrevel), 
and  Will  Cummings  and  Jean  Madrillon,  the  lieu- 
tenants. This  glory  was  confined  to  the  officers, 
who  had  ordered  their  uniforms  at  home,  for  the 
privates  and  non-commissioned  officers  were  to  re- 
ceive theirs  at  the  State  rendezvous.  However,  al- 
though this  gala  adornment  was  limited  to  the 
three  gentlemen  mentioned,  their  appearance  added 
"  an  indescribable  air  of  splendor  and  pathos  to 
the  occasion,"  to  quote  Mr.  Cummings  once  more. 
A  fourth  citizen  of  the  town  who  might  have  seized 
upon  this  opportunity  to  display  himself  as  a  sol- 
[275] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

dier  neglected  to  take  advantage  of  it  and  stole  in 
quietly,  toward  the  last,  in  his  ordinary  attire, 
leaving  his  major's  uniform  folded  on  a  chair  in 
his  own  room.  The  flag  was  to  be  presented  to 
the  volunteers  at  the  close  of  the  evening,  and  Tom 
came  for  that — so  he  claimed  to  his  accusing  soul. 
He  entered  unobserved  and  made  his  way,  keep- 
ing close  to  the  wall,  to  where  Mrs.  Bareaud  sat, 
taking  a  chair  at  her  side;  but  Robert  Carewe, 
glancing  thither  by  chance,  saw  him,  and  changed 
countenance  for  an  instant.  Mr.  Carewe  com- 
posed his  features  swiftly,  excused  himself  with 
elaborate  courtesy  from  Miss  Chenoweth,  with 
whom  he  was  talking,  and  crossed  the  room  to  a 
corner  near  his  enemy.  Presently,  as  the  music 
ceased,  the  volunteers  were  bidden  to  come  forward, 
whereupon  Tom  left  Mrs.  Bareaud  and  began  to 
work  his  way  down  the  room.  Groups  were 
forming  and  breaking  up  in  the  general  movement 
of  the  crowd,  and  the  dissolving  of  one  brought 
him  face  to  face  with  Elizabeth  Carewe,  who  was 
moving  slowly  in  the  opposite  direction,  a  small 
flock  of  suitors  in  her  train. 
£276] 


"  Those  Endearing  Young  Charms  " 
The  confrontation  came  so  suddenly  and  so  un- 
expectedly that,  before  either  was  aware,  they 
looked  squarely  into  each  other's  eyes,  full  and 
straight,  and  both  stopped  instantly  as  though 
transfixed,  Miss  Betty  leaving  a  sentence  forever 
half-complete.  There  was  a  fierce,  short  vocal 
sound  from  the  crowd  behind  Vanrevel;  but  no 
one  noticed  Mr.  Carewe;  and  then  Tom  bowed 
gravely,  as  in  apology  for  blocking  the  way,  and 
passed  on. 

Miss  Betty  began  to  talk  again,  much  at  ran- 
dom, with  a  vivacity  too  greatly  exaggerated  to 
be  genuine,  while  the  high  color  went  from  her 
cheeks  and  left  her  pale.  Nothing  could  have  en- 
raged her  more  with  herself  than  the  conscious- 
ness, now  suddenly  strong  within  her,  that  the 
encounter  had  a  perceptible  effect  upon  her.  What 
power  had  this  man  to  make  her  manner  strained 
and  mechanical?  What  right  had  his  eyes  always 
to  stir  her  as  they  did?  It  was  not  he  for  whom 
she  had  spent  an  hour  over  her  hair;  not  he  for 
whom  she  had  driven  her  poor  handmaiden  away 
in  tears:  that  was  for  one  who  had  not  come,  one 
£877] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

great  in  heart  and  goodness,  one  of  a  pure  and 
sacrificial  life  who  deserved  all  she  could  give,  and 
for  whose  sake  she  had  honored  herself  in  trying 
to  look  as  pretty  as  she  could.  He  had  not  come; 
and  that  hurt  her  a  little,  but  she  felt  his  gen- 
erosity, believing  that  his  motive  was  to  spare  her, 
since  she  could  not  speak  to  him  in  Mr.  Carewe's 
presence  without  open  and  public  rupture  with  her 
father.  Well,  she  was  almost  ready  for  that,  see- 
ing how  little  of  a  father  hers  was!  Ah!  that 
other  should  have  come,  if  only  to  stand  between 
her  and  this  tall  hypocrite  whose  dark  glance  had 
such  strength  to  disturb  her.  What  lies  that  gaze 
contained,  all  in  the  one  flash! — the  strange  pre- 
tence of  comprehending  her  gently  but  completely ; 
a  sad  compassion,  too,  and  with  it  a  look  of  fare- 
well, seeming  to  say :  "  Once  more  I  have  come  for 
this — and  just,  '  Good-by ! »  "  For  she  knew  that 
he  was  going  with  the  others,  going  perhaps  for- 
ever, only  the  day  after  to-morrow — then  she  would 
see  him  no  more  and  be  free  of  him.  Let  the  day 
after  to-morrow  come  soon!  Miss  Betty  hated 
herself  for  understanding  the  adieu,  and  hated  her- 
{278] 


"  Those  Endearing  Young  Charms  " 
self  more  because  she  could  not  be  sure  that,  in  the 
startled  moment  of  meeting  before  she  collected 
herself,  she  had  let  it  go  unanswered. 

She  had  done  more  than  that:  without  knowing 
it  she  had  bent  her  head  to  his  bow,  and  Mr.  Carewe 
had  seen  both  the  salutation  and  the  look. 

The  young  men  were  gathered  near  the  orches- 
tra, and,  to  the  hilarious  strains  of  "  Yankee 
Doodle,"  the  flag  they  were  to  receive  for  their 
regiment  was  borne  down  the  room  by  the  sisters 
and  sweethearts  who  had  made  it,  all  of  whom 
were  there,  except  Fanchon  Bareaud.  Crailey  had 
persuaded  her  to  surrender  the  flag  for  the  sake 
of  spending  this  evening — next  to  his  last  in  Rouen 
— at  home  alone  with  him. 

The  elder  Chenoweth  made  the  speech  of  pres- 
entation, that  is,  he  made  part  of  it  before  he 
broke  down,  for  his  son  stood  in  the  ranks  of  the 
devoted  band.  Until  this  incident  occurred,  all  had 
gone  trippingly,  for  everyone  had  tried  to  put  the 
day  after  to-morrow  from  his  mind.  Perhaps 
there  might  not  have  been  so  many  tears  even  now, 
[279] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

if  the  young  men  had  not  stood  together  so  smil- 
ingly to  receive  their  gift;  it  was  seeing  them  so 
gay  and  confident,  so  strong  in  their  youth  and 
so  unselfish  of  purpose ;  it  was  this,  and  the  feeling 
that  all  of  them  must  suffer  and  some  of  them  die 
before  they  came  back.  So  that  when  Mr.  Cheno- 
weth,  choking  in  his  loftiest  flight,  came  to  a  full 
stop,  and  without  disguise  buried  his  face  in  his 
handkerchief,  Mrs.  Tanberry,  the  apostle  of  gay- 
ety,  openly  sobbed.  Chenoweth,  without  more 
ado,  carried  the  flag  over  to  Tappingham  Marsh, 
whom  Vanrevel  directed  to  receive  it,  and  Tap- 
pingham thanked  the  donors  without  many  words, 
because  there  were  not  then  many  at  his  com- 
mand. 

Miss  Carewe  had  been  chosen  to  sing  "  The 
Star  Spangled  Banner,"  and  she  stepped  out 
a  little  from  the  crowd  to  face  the  young  man, 
as  the  orchestra  sounded  the  first  chord.  She  sang 
in  a  full,  clear  voice,  but  when  the  volunteers  saw 
that,  as  she  sang,  the  tears  were  streaming  down 
her  cheeks  in  spite  of  the  brave  voice,  they  began 
to  choke  with  the  others.  If  Miss  Betty  Carewe 
{280] 


"  Those  Endearing  Young  Charms  " 
found  them  worth  weeping  for,  they  could  afford 
to  cry  a  little  for  themselves.  Yet  they  joined 
the  chorus  nobly,  and  raised  the  roof  with  the 
ringing  song,  sending  the  flamboyant,  proud  old 
words  thunderously  to  heaven. 

That  was  not  the  last  song  of  the  night.  Gen- 
eral Trumble  and  Mr.  Chenoweth  had  invited  their 
young  friends  to  attend,  after  the  ball,  a  colla- 
tion which  they  chose  to  call  a  supper,  but  which, 
to  accord  with  the  hour,  might  more  aptly 
have  been  designated  a  breakfast.  To  afford  a 
private  retreat  for  the  scene  of  this  celebration, 
they  had  borrowed  the  offices  of  Gray  and  Van- 
revel,  and  Crailey  hospitably  announced  that  any 
guest  was  welcome  to  stay  for  a  year  or  two,  since, 
probably,  neither  of  the  firm  would  have  need  of 
an  office  for  at  least  that  length  of  time.  Nine 
men  gathered  about  the  table  which  replaced  Tom's 
work-a-day  old  desk:  the  two  Chenoweths,  Eugene 
Madrillon,  Marsh,  Jefferson  Bareaud,  the  stout 
General,  Tom  Vanrevel,  Crailey,  and  Will  Cum- 
mings,  the  editor  coming  in  a  little  late,  but  rub- 
bing his  hands  cheerfully  over  what  he  declared 
[281] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

was  to  be  the  last  column  from  his  pen  to  rear 
its  length  on  the  Journal's  front  page  for  many 
a  long  day — a  description  of  the  presentation 
of  the  flag,  a  bit  of  prose  which  he  consid- 
ered almost  equal  to  his  report  of  the  warehouse 
fire. 

This  convivial  party  made  merry  and  tried  to 
forget  that  most  of  them  had  "  been  mighty 
teary,"  as  Marsh  said,  an  hour  earlier;  while  Mr. 
Chenoweth  sat  with  his  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder, 
unconsciously  most  of  the  time,  apologetically  re- 
moving it  when  he  observed  it.  Many  were  the 
witticisms  concerning  the  difference  in  rank  hence- 
forth to  be  observed  between  the  young  men,  as 
Tom  was  now  a  major,  Marsh  a  captain,  Will 
Cummings  a  second  lieutenant,  and  the  rest  mere 
privates,  except  Crailey,  who  was  a  corporal. 
Nevertheless,  though  the  board  was  festive,  it  was 
somewhat  subdued  and  absent  until  they  came  to 
the  toasts. 

It  was  Tappingham  who  proposed  Miss  Betty 
Carewe.     "  I  know  Tom  Vanrevel  will  understand 
• — nay,  I  know  he's  man  enough  to  join  us,"  said 
[  282  ] 


"  Those  Endearing  Young  Charms  " 
Marsh  as  he  rose.  "  Why  shouldn't  I  say  that  we 
may  hail  ourselves  as  patriots,  indeed,  since  at  the 
call  of  our  country  we  depart  from  the  town  which 
is  this  lady's  home,  and  at  the  trumpet's  sound 
resign  the  gracious  blessing  of  seeing  her  day  by 
day,  and  why  shouldn't  we  admit  loyally  and 
openly  that  it  is  her  image  alone  which  shines  in 
the  hearts  of  most  of  us  here?  " 

And  no  man  arose  to  contradict  that  speech, 
which  appears  to  have  rung  true,  seeing  that  four 
of  those  present  had  proposed  to  her  (again)  that 
same  evening. 

"  So  I  give  you,"  cried  Tappingham,  gallantly, 
"the  health  of  Miss  Betty  Carewe,  the  loveliest 
rose  of  our  bouquet!  May  she  remember  us  when 
we  come  home !  " 

They  rose  and  drank  it  with  a  shout.  But  Tom 
Vanrevel,  not  setting  down  his  cup,  went  to  the 
window  and  threw  wide  the  shutters,  letting  in  a 
ruddy  shaft  of  the  morning  sun,  so  that  as  he 
stood  in  the  strong  glow  he  looked  like  a  man 
carved  out  of  red  gold.  He  lifted  his  glass,  not 
toward  the  table  and  his  companions,  while  they 
[283] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

stared  at  him,  surprised,  but  toward  the  locusts  of 
Carewe  Street. 

"  To  Miss  Betty  Carewe,"  he  said,  "  the  finest 
flower  of  them  all!  May  she  remember  those  who 
never  come  home !  " 

And,  without  pausing,  he  lifted  his  rich  bari- 
tone in  an  old  song  that  had  been  vastly  pop- 
ular with  the  young  men  of  Rouen  ever  since  the 
night  of  Miss  Betty's  debut;  they  had  hummed 
it  as  they  went  about  their  daily  work,  they  had 
whistled  it  on  the  streets;  they  had  drifted 
into  dreams  at  night  with  the  sound  of  it  still 
chiming  in  their  ears;  and  now,  with  one  ac- 
cord, as  they  stood  gathered  together  for  the 
last  time  in  Rouen,  they  joined  Tom  Vanrevel 
and  sang  it  again.  And  the  eyes  of  Crailey 
Gray  rested  very  gently  upon  his  best  friend  as 
they  sang: 

"Believe  me,  ifatt  thote  endearing  young  charmt, 

Which  I  gaze  on  so  fondly  to-day, 
Were  to  change  by  to-morrow  and  fleet  from  my  arm*, 
Like  fairy  gift*  fading  away, 

[2S4] 


"  Those  Endearing  Yoimg  Charm*  " 

Thou  wouldst  still  be  adored  as  this  moment  thou  art '. 

Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  it  will, 
And  around  the  dear  ruin,  each  wish  of  my  heart 

Would  entwine  itself  verdantly  stih." 


CHAPTER  XVII 
The  Price  of  Silence 

IT  was  the  misfortune  of  Mr.  Cummings's  final 
literary  offering  to  annoy  one  of  the  editor's 
friends.  The  Journal  was  brought  to  the  new 
corporal  at  noon,  while  he  was  considering  whether 
he  should  rise  from  his  couch  or  sleep  another 
hour.  Reclining  among  his  pillows,  he  glanced 
through  Cummings's  description  with  the  subdued 
giggle  he  always  had  for  the  good  William's  style, 
but  as  his  eye  fell  upon  one  paragraph  he  started, 
sat  upright,  and  proceeded  to  read  the  passage 
several  times  with  anxious  attention. 

"  Only  two  or  three  sources  of  regret  occurred 
to  mar  the  delight  (in  which  young  and  old  par- 
ticipated) of  that  festal  and  dazzling  scene.  One 
was  the  absence  of  Miss  Fanchon  Bareaud,  one  of 
the  donors ;  another,  that  of  Corporal  Gray ;  a  third 
was  the  excessive  modesty  of  Major  Vanrevel,  who, 
although  present  at  the  time,  refused  to  receive 
[286] 


The  Price' of  Silence 

the  ladles'  sumptuous  offering  and  insisted  that 
Captain  Marsh  was  the  proper  person  to  do  the 
honors,  to  which  the  latter  reluctantly,  though 
gracefully,  consented.  Also,  we  were  sorry  that 
the  Major  appeared  in  citizen's  dress,  as  all  were 
anxious  to  witness  him  in  his  uniform.  However, 
in  our  humble  judgment,  he  will  be  compelled  by 
etiquette  to  don  it  this  afternoon,  to  receive  the 
officers  of  the  regular  army,  who  will  arrive  by 
the  stage  about  five  o'clock,  it  is  expected,  to  in- 
spect the  company  and  swear  them  into  the  service 
of  the  Federal  Government  at  the  Court  House. 
We,  for  one,  have  little  doubt  that,  owing  to  the 
Major's  well-known  talent  in  matters  of  apparel, 
his  appearance  will  far  eclipse  in  brilliancy  that 
of  his  fellow-officers." 

Crailey  dressed  slowly,  returning  to  the  paper, 
now  and  then,  with  a  perturbed  countenance.  How 
would  Miss  Betty  explain  this  paragraph  to  her- 
self, and  how  account  for  the  fact  that  she  had 
not  seen  Crailey,  how  for  the  fact  that  she  had 
seen  Tom?  It  seemed  unlikely  that  she  could  have 
overlooked  the  latter — Tom  was  one  of  those  whom 
[287] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

everybody  saw,  wherever  he  went.  And  what  in- 
quiries would  she  make?  For  Crailey  had  no 
means  of  knowing  that  she  would  not  see  the 
Journal.  To-morrow  he  would  be  gone,  it  would 
be  all  over,  but  he  wanted  this  last  day  to  run 
smoothly.  What  wild  hopes  he  had  of  things  that 
should  happen  when  they  all  came  marching  home, 
no  one  can  say;  even  if  it  were  not  to  be  doubted 
that  Crailey  ever  entertained  hopes  of  any  kind 
whatever,  since  to  hope  is  to  bestow  thought  upon; 
the  future. 

But,  however  affairs  ran  with  him  so  far  as  hope 
was  concerned,  he  seldom  lacked  an  idea;  and  one 
came  to  him  presently,  a  notion  that  put  the  frown 
to  rout  and  brought  the  old  smile  to  his  lips,  his 
smile  of  the  world-worn  and  tolerant  prelate.  He 
flicked  the  paper  lightly  from  him,  and  it  sped 
across  the  room  like  a  big  bird  in  awkward  flight. 
For  he  knew  how  to  preserve  his  last  day  as  he 
wished,  and  to  make  all  smooth. 

He  finished  his  toilet  with  particular  care,  took 
a  flower  from  a  vase  on  his  table,  placed  it  in  his 
coat,  and  went  down  to  the  dusty  street,  where 
(888) 


The  Price  of  Silence 

everything  was  warm  and  bright  with  summer.  It 
was  joy  to  be  alive;  there  was  wine  enough  in  the 
air;  and  Crailey  made  up  his  mind  not  to  take  a 
drink  that  day — the  last  day!  The  last  day! 
The  three  words  kept  ringing  through  his  head 
like  a  minor  phrase  from  a  song.  To-morrow,  at 
noon,  they  would  be  churning  down  the  river;  and 
this  was  the  last  day — the  last  day ! 

"  Still  not  too  late  to  make  another  friend  at 
home,"  he  said,  stopping  to  pat  the  head  of  a 
mangy  street  cur  that  came  crouching  and  wob- 
bling toward  him  like  a  staveless  little  keg  worried 
by  scurries  of  wind.  Dogs  and  children  always 
fell  in  love  with  Crailey  at  first  sight,  and  he 
never  failed  to  receive  them  in  the  spirit  of  their 
approach.  Now  the  mongrel,  at  his  touch,  im- 
mediately turned  himself  over  and  lay  upon  the 
pavement  with  all  paws  in  air,  to  say :  "  Great 
lord,  magnificent  in  the  graciousness  which  deigns 
to  cast  a  glimpse  upon  this  abject  cluster  of  ribs, 
I  perceive  that  your  heart  is  too  gentle  to  kick 
me  in  my  present  helplessness;  yet  do  with  me  as 
you  will." 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

"I  doubt  if  you've  breakfasted,  brother," 
Crailey  responded  aloud,  rubbing  the  dog's  head 
softly  with  the  tip  of  his  boot.  "  Will  you  share 
the  meagre  fare  of  one  who  is  a  poet,  should  be  a 
lawyer,  but  is  about  to  become  a  soldier?  Eh,  but 
a  corporal !  Rise,  my  friend.  Up !  and  be  in  your 
own  smalj  self  a  whole  Corporal's  Guard !  And  if 
your  Corporal  doesn't  come  home  from  the  wars, 
perhaps  you'll  remember  him  kindly  ?  Think  ?  " 

He  made  a  vivacious  gesture,  the  small  animal 
sprang  into  the  air,  convoluted  with  gratitude  and 
new  love,  while  Crailey,  laughing  softly,  led  the 
way  to  the  hotel.  There,  while  he  ate  sparsely 
himself,  he  provided  munificently  for  his  new  ac- 
quaintance, and  recommended  him,  with  an  accom- 
paniment of  silver,  to  the  good  offices  of  the  Rouen 
House  kitchen.  After  that,  out  into  the  sunshine 
again  he  went,  with  elastic  step,  and  a  merry  word 
and  a  laugh  for  everyone  he  met.  At  the  old 
English  gardener's  he  bought  four  or  five  bou- 
quets, and  carried  them  on  a  round  of  visits  of 
farewell  to  as  many  old  ladies  who  had  been  kind 
to  him.  This  done,  leaving  his  laughter  and  his 
[290J 


The  Price  of  Silence 

flowers  behind  him,  he  went  to  Fanchon  and  spent 
part  of  the  afternoon  bringing  forth  cunning  ar- 
guments cheerily,  to  prove  to  her  that  General 
Taylor  would  be  in  the  Mexican  capital  before 
the  volunteers  reached  New  Orleans,  and  urging 
upon  her  his  belief  that  they  would  all  be  back  in 
Rouen  before  the  summer  was  gone. 

But  Fanchon  could  only  sob  and  whisper, 
"  Hush,  hush ! "  in  the  dim  room  where  they  sat, 
the  windows  darkened  so  that,  after  he  had  gone, 
he  should  not  remember  how  red  her  eyes  were, 
and  the  purple  depths  under  them,  and  thus  forget 
how  pretty  she  had  been  at  her  best.  After  a 
time,  finding  that  the  more  he  tried  to  cheer  her, 
the  more  brokenly  she  wept,  he  grew  silent,  only 
stroking  her  head,  while  the  summer  sounds  came 
in  through  the  window:  the  mill-whir  of  locusts, 
the  small  monotone  of  distant  farm-bells,  the 
laughter  of  children  in  the  street,  and  the  gay 
arias  of  a  mocking-bird  swinging  in  the  open  win- 
dow of  the  next  house.  So  they  sat  together 
through  the  long,  still  afternoon  of  the  last  day. 

No  one  in  Rouen  found  that  afternoon  particu- 
[291] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

larly  enlivening.  Even  Mrs.  Tanberry  gave  way 
to  the  common  depression,  and,  once  more,  her  doc- 
trine of  cheerfulness  relegated  to  the  ghostly  ranks 
of  the  purely  theoretical,  she  bowed  under  the  bur- 
den of  her  woe  so  far  as  to  sing  "  Methought  I 
Met  a  Damsel  Fair"  (her  of  the  bursting  sighs) 
at  the  piano.  Whenever  sadness  lay  upon  her 
soul  she  had  acquired  the  habit  of  resorting  to  this 
unhappy  ballad;  to-day  she  sang  it  four  times. 
Mr.  Carewe  was  not  at  home,  and  had  announced 
that  though  he  intended  to  honor  the  evening  meal 
by  his  attendance,  he  should  be  away  for  the 
evening  itself;  as  comment  upon  which  statement 
Mrs.  Tanberry  had  offered  ambiguously  the  one 
word,  "  Amen !  "  He  was  stung  to  no  reply,  and 
she  had  noted  the  circumstance  as  unusual,  and 
also  that  he  had  appeared  to  labor  with  the 
suppression  of  a  keen  excitement,  which  made 
him  anxious  to  escape  from  her  sharp  little 
eyes;  an  agitation  for  which  she  easily  ac- 
counted when  she  recalled  that  he  had  seen 
Vanrevel  on  the  previous  evening.  Mr.  Ca- 
rewe had  kept  his  promise  to  preserve  the  peace, 
[292] 


The  Price  of  Silence 

as  he  always  kept  it  when  the  two  met  on  neutral 
ground,  but  she  had  observed  that  his  face  showed 
a  kind  of  hard-leashed  violence  whenever  he  had 
been  forced  to  breathe  the  air  of  the  same  room 
with  his  enemy,  and  that  the  thing  grew  on  him. 
Miss  Betty  exhibited  not  precisely  a  burning 
interest  in  the  adventure  of  the  Damsel  Fair, 
wandering  out  of  the  room  during  the  second  ren- 
dition, wandering  back  again,  and  once  more  away. 
She  had  moved  about  the  house  in  this  fashion 
since  early  morning,  wearing  what  Mamie  de- 
scribed as  a  "peak-ed  look."  White-faced  and 
restless,  with  distressed  eyes,  to  which  no  sleep 
had  come  in  the  night,  she  could  not  read; 
she  could  no  more  than  touch  her  harp;  she 
could  not  sleep;  she  could  not  remain  quiet 
for  three  minutes  together.  Often  she  sank  into 
a  chair  with  an  air  of  languor  and  weariness,  only 
to  start  immediately  out  of  it  and  seek  some  other 
part  of  the  house,  or  to  go  and  pace  the  garden. 
Here,  in  the  air  heavy  with  roses  and  tremulous 
with  June,  as  she  walked  rapidly  up  and  down, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  at  the  time  when  the  far- 
[293] 


The  Two  Vanrevds 

away  farm-bells  were  calling  men  from  the  fields 
to  supper,  the  climax  of  her  restlessness  came. 
That  anguish  and  desperation,  so  old  in  her  sex, 
the  rebellion  against  the  law  that  inaction  must  be 
her  part,  had  fallen  upon  her  for  the  first  time. 
She  came  to  an  abrupt  stop  and  struck  her  hands 
together  despairingly,  and  spoke  aloud. 

"  What  shall  I  do !    What  shall  I  do !  " 

"  Ma'am?  "  asked  a  surprised  voice,  just  behind 
her. 

She  wheeled  quickly  about,  to  behold  a  shock- 
headed  urchin  of  ten  in  the  path  near  the  little 
clearing.  He  was  ragged,  tanned,  dusty,  neither 
shoes  nor  coat  trammelling  his  independence;  and 
he  had  evidently  entered  the  garden  through  the 
gap  in  the  hedge. 

"  I  thought  you  spoke  to  me? "  he  said,  in- 
quiringly. 

"I  didn't  see  you,"  she  returned.  "What  is 
it?" 

"You    Miss    Carewe?"he    asked;    but   before 
she  could  answer  he  said,  reassuringly,  "  Why,  of 
course  you  are!     I  remember  you  perfect,  now  I 
[294] 


The  Price  of  Silence 

git  the  light  on  you,  so  to  speak.     Don't  you  re- 
member me?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  do." 

"  Lord !  "  he  responded,  wonderingly.  "  I  was 
one  of  the  boys  with  you  on  them  boxes  the 
night  of  your  pa's  fire ! "  Mingled  with  the 
surprise  in  his  tone  was  a  respectful  unction  which 
intimated  how  greatly  he  honored  her  father  for 
having  been  the  owner  of  so  satisfactory  a  con- 
flagration. 

"  Were  you?  Perhaps  I'll  remember  you  if  you 
give  me  time." 

But  at  this  point  the  youth  recalled  the  fact 
that  he  had  an  errand  to  discharge,  and,  assum- 
ing an  expression  of  businesslike  haste  too  press- 
ing to  permit  farther  parley,  sought  in  his 
pocket  and  produced  a  sealed  envelope,  with  which 
he  advanced  upon  her. 

"  Here.  There's  an  answer.  He  told  me  not 
to  tell  nobody  who  sent  it,  and  not  to  give  it  to 
nobody  on  earth  but  you,  and  how  to  slip  in 
through  the  hedge  and  try  and  find  you  in  the 
garden  when  nobody  was  lookin',  and  he  give  a 
[295] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

pencil  for  you  to  answer  on  the  back  of  it,  and  a 
dollar." 

Miss  Betty  took  the  note,  glancing  once  over 
her  shoulder  at  the  house,  but  Mrs.  Tanberry  was 
still  occupied  with  the  Maiden,  and  no  one  was  in 
sight.  She  read  the  message  hastily. 

"  I  have  obeyed  you,  and  shall  always.  You 
have  not  sent  for  me.  Perhaps  that  was  because 
there  was  no  time  when  you  thought  it  safe. 
Perhaps  you  have  still  felt  there  would  be  a  loss 
of  dignity.  Does  that  weigh  with  you  against 
good-by?  Tell  me,  if  you  can,  that  you  have 
it  in  your  heart  to  let  me  go  without  seeing 
you  once  more,  without  good-by — for  the  last 
time.  Or  was  it  untrue  that  you  wrote  me  what 
you  did?  Was  that  dear  letter  but  a  little  fairy 
I  dream  of  mine?  Ah,  will  you  see  me  again,  this 
once — this  once — let  me  look  at  you,  let  me  talk 
with  you,  hear  your  voice?  The  last  time !"  . 

There  was  no  signature. 

Miss  Betty  quickly  wrote  four  lines  upon  the 
[296] 


The  Price  of  Silence 

same  sheet :  "  Yes — yes !  I  must  see  you,  must 
talk  with  you  before  you  go.  Come  at  dusk. 
The  garden — near  the  gap  in  the  hedge.  It  will 
be  safe  for  a  little  while.  He  will  not  be  here." 
She  replaced  the  paper  in  its  envelope,  drew  a 
line  through  her  own  name  on  the  letter,  and  wrote 
"  Mr.  Vanrevel  "  underneath. 

"  Do  you  know  the  gentleman  who  sent  you?  " 
she  asked. 

"  No'm ;  but  he'll  be  waitin'  at  his  office,  *  Gray 
and  Vanrevel,'  on  Main  Street,  for  the  answer." 

"  Then  hurry !  "  said  Betty. 

He  needed  no  second  bidding,  but,  with  wings 
on  his  bare  heels,  made  off  through  the  gap  in  the 
hedge.  At  the  corner  of  the  street  he  encountered 
an  adventure,  a  gentleman's  legs  and  a  heavy  hand 
at  the  same  time.  The  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder, 
arresting  his  scamper  with  a  vicious  jerk;  and  the 
boy  was  too  awed  to  attempt  an  escape,  for  he 
knew  his  captor  well  by  sight,  although  never 
before  had  he  found  himself  so  directly  in  the 
company  of  Rouen's  richest  citizen.  The  note 
dropped  from  the  small  trembling  fingers,  yet  those 
[297] 


The  Two  Vamevels 

fingers  did  not  shake  as  did  the  man's  when,  like  a 
flash,  Carewe  seized  upon  the  missive  with  his  dis- 
engaged hand  and  saw  what  two  names  were  on 
the  envelope. 

"  You  were  stealing,  were  you ! "  he  cried,  sav- 
agely. "  I  saw  you  sneak  through  my  hedge !  " 

"I  didn't,  either!" 

Mr.  Carewe  ground  his  teeth.  "What  were 
you  doing  there  ?  " 

"Nothing!" 

"Nothing!"  mocked  Carewe.  "Nothing! 
You  didn't  carry  this  to  the  young  lady  in  there 
and  get  her  answer  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ! "  answered  the  captive,  earnestly. 
"  Cross  my  heart  I  didn't.  I  found  it!  " 

Slowly  the  corrugations  of  anger  were  levelled 
from  the  magnate's  face,  the  white  heat  cooled, 
and  the  prisoner  marvelled  to  find  himself  in  the 
presence  of  an  urbane  gentleman  whose  placidity 
made  the  scene  of  a  moment  ago  appear  some 
trick  of  distorted  vision.  And  yet,  curious  to  be- 
hold, Mr.  Carewe's  fingers  shook  even  more  vio- 
lently than  before,  as  he  released  the  boy's  shoulder 
[298] 


The  Price  of  Silence 

and  gave  him  a  friendly  tap  on  the  head,  at  the 
same  time  smiling  benevolently. 

"  There,  there,"  he  saia,  bestowing  a  wink  upon 
the  youngster.  "  It's  all  right ;  it  doesn't  matter 
• — only  I  think  I  see  the  chance  of  a  jest  in  this. 
You  wait,  while  I  read  this  little  note,  this  mes- 
sage that  you  found!  "  He  ended  by  winking 
again  with  the  friendliest  drollery. 

He  turned  his  back  to  the  boy,  and  opened 
the  note ;  continuing  to  stand  in  that  position 
while  he  read  the  two  messages.  It  struck  the 
messenger  that,  after  this,  there  need  be  no  great 
shame  in  his  own  lack  of  this  much-vaunted  art 
of  reading,  since  it  took  so  famous  a  man  as  Mr. 
Carewe  such  length  of  time  to  peruse  a  little  note. 
But  perhaps  the  great  gentleman  was  ill,  for  it 
appeared  to  the  boy  that  he  lurched  several  times, 
once  so  far  that  he  would  have  gone  over  if  he 
had  not  saved  himself  by  a  lucky  stagger.  And 
once,  except  for  the  fact  that  the  face  that 
had  turned  away  had  worn  an  expression  of  such 
genial  humor,  the  boy  would  have  believed  that 
from  it  issued  a  sound  like  the  gnashing  of  teeth. 
[299] 


The  Two  Vanrevds 

But  when  it  was  turned  to  him  again,  it  bore 
the  same  amiable  jocosity  of  mouth  and  eye,  and 
nothing  seemed  to  be  the  matter,  except  that  those 
fingers  still  shook  so  wildly,  too  wildly,  indeed,  to 
restore  the  note  to  its  envelope. 

"  There,"  said  Mr.  Carewe,  "  put  it  back,  lad- 
die, put  it  back  yourself.  Take  it  to  the  gentle- 
man who  sent  you.  I  see  he's  even  disguised  his 
hand  a  trifle — ha !  ha ! — and  I  suppose  he  may  not 
have  expected  the  young  lady  to  write  his  name 
quite  so  boldly  on  the  envelope!  What  do  you 
suppose?  " 

"  I  d'know,"  returned  the  boy.  "  I  reckon  I 
don't  hardly  understand." 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  said  Mr.  Carewe,  laugh- 
ing rather  madly.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Of  course  you 
wouldn't.  And  how  much  did  he  give  you  ?  " 

"  Yay !  "  cried  the  other,  joyously.  "  Didn't  he 
go  and  hand  me  a  dollar ! " 

"  How  much  will  you  take  not  to  tell  him  that 
I  stopped  you  and  read  it ;  how  much  not  to  speak 
of  me  at  all?  " 

«  What?  " 

[800] 


The  Price  of  Silence 

"  It's  a  foolish  kind  of  joke,  nothing  more.  I'll 
give  you  five  dollars  never  to  tell  anyone  that  you 
saw  me  to-day." 

"Don't  shoot,  Colonel,"  exclaimed  the  youth, 
with  a  riotous  fling  of  bare  feet  in  the  air,  "  I'll 
come  down ! " 

"  You'll  do  it?  " 

"  Five ! "  he  shouted,  dancing  upon  the  boards. 
"  Five !  I'll  cross  my  heart  to  die  I  never  hear 
tell  of  you,  or  ever  knew  they  was  sich  a  man  in 
the  world!" 

Carewe  bent  over  him.  "No!  Say:  'God 
strike  me  dead  and  condemn  me  eternally  to  the 
everlasting  flames  of  hell  if  I  ever  tell ! " 

This  entailed  quick  sobriety,  though  only  benev- 
olence was  in  the  face  above  him.  The  jig-step 
stopped,  and  the  boy  pondered,  frightened. 

"  Have  I  got  to  say  that?  " 

Mr.  Carewe  produced  a  bank-bill  about  which 
the  boy  beheld  a  halo.  Clearly  this  was  his  day; 
heaven  showed  its  approval  of  his  conduct  by  an 
outpouring  of  imperishable  riches.  And  yet  the 
oath  misliked  him;  there  was  a  savor  of  the 
[301] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

demoniacal  contract ;  still  that  was  to  be  borne  and 
the  plunge  taken,  for  there  fluttered  the  huge  sum 
before  his  dazzled  eyes.  He  took  a  deep  breath. 
"  '  God  strike  me  dead  '  " — he  began,  slowly — 
"  «  if  I  ever  ' " 

"  No.  *  And  condemn  me  to  the  everlasting 
flames  of  hell ' " 

"  Have  I  got  to?  " 

"  Yes." 

— "  '  And  condemn  me  to — to  the  everlasting 
flames  of— of  hell,  if  I  ever  tell ! '  " 

He  ran  off,  pale  with  the  fear  that  he  might 
grow  up,  take  to  drink  and  some  day  tell  in 
his  cups,  but  so  resolved  not  to  coquet  with  temp- 
tation that  he  went  round  a  block  to  avoid  the 
door  of  the  Rouen  House  bar.  Nevertheless,  the 
note  was  in  his  hand  and  the  fortune  in  his  pocket. 

And  Mr.  Carewe  was  safe.  He  knew  that  the 
boy  would  never  tell,  and  he  knew  another  thing, 
for  he  had  read  the  Journal,  though  it  came  no 
more  to  his  house:  he  knew  that  Tom  Vanrevel 
wore  his  uniform  that  evening,  and  that,  even  in 
the  dusk,  the  brass  buttons  on  an  officer's  breast 
[302  ] 


The  Price  of  Silence 

make  a  good  mark  for  a  gun  'steadied  along  the 
ledge  of  a  window.  As  he  entered  the  gates 
and  went  toward  the  house  he  glanced  up  at  the 
window  which  overlooked  his  garden  from  the 
cupola. 


[SOS] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  Uniform 

CRAILEY  was  not  the  only  man  in  Rouen 
who  had  been  saying  to  himself  all  day 
that  each  accustomed  thing  he  did  was 
done  for  the  last  time.  Many  of  his  comrades 
went  about  with  "  Farewell,  old  friend,"  in  their 
hearts,  not  only  for  the  people,  but  for  the  usual 
things  of  life  and  the  actions  of  habit,  now  be- 
come unexpectedly  dear  and  sweet  to  know  or  to 
perform.  So  Tom  Vanrevel,  relieved  of  his  hot 
uniform,  loose  as  to  collar,  wearing  a  big 
dressing-gown,  and  stretched  in  a  chair,  watched 
the  sunset  from  the  western  window  of  the  dusty, 
office,  where  he  had  dreamed  through  many  sun- 
sets in  summers  past,  and  now  took  his  leave 
of  this  old  habit  of  his  in  silence,  with  a  long  cigar, 
considering  the  chances  largely  against  his  ever 


The  Uniform 

seeing  the  sun  go  down  behind  the  long  wooden 
bridge  at  the  foot  of  Main  Street  again. 

The  ruins  of  the  warehouses  had  been  removed, 
and  the  river  was  laid  clear  to  his  sight;  it  ran 
between  brown  banks  like  a  river  of  rubies,  and,  at 
the  wharf,  the  small  evening  steamboat,  ugly  and 
grim  enough  to  behold  from  near  by,  lay  pink 
and  lovely  in  that  broad  glow,  tooting  imminent 
departure,  although  an  hour  might  elapse  before 
it  would  back  into  the  current.  The  sun  widened, 
clung  briefly  to  the  horizon,  and  dropped  behind 
the  low  hills  beyond  the  bottom  lands;  the  stream 
grew  purple,  then  took  on  a  lustre  of  pearl 
as  the  stars  came  out,  while  rosy  distances 
changed  to  misty  blue ;  the  chatter  of  the  birds  in 
the  Main  Street  maples  became  quieter,  and, 
through  lessening  little  choruses  of  twittering, 
fell  gradually  to  silence.  And  now  the  blue  dusk 
crept  on  the  town,  and  the  corner  drug-store  win- 
dow-lights threw  mottled  colors  on  the  pavement. 
From  the  hall,  outside  the  closed  office-door,  came 
the  sound  of  quick,  light  footsteps ;  it  was  Crailey 
going  out ;  but  Tom  only  sighed  to  himself,  and 
[305] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

Bid  not  hail  him.  So  these  light  footsteps  of 
Crailey  Gray  echoed  but  a  moment  in  the  stairway, 
and  were  heard  no  more. 

A  few  moments  later  a  tall  figure,  wrapped 
from  neck  to  heels  in  a  gray  cloak,  rapidly 
crossed  the  mottled  lights,  and  disappeared  into 
Carewe  Street.  This  cloaked  person  wore  on  his 
head  a  soldier's  cap,  and  Tom,  not  recognizing 
him  surely,  vaguely  wondered  why  Tappingham 
Marsh  chose  to  muffle  himself  so  warmly  on  a  June 
evening.  He  noted  the  quick,  alert  tread  as  un- 
like Marsh's  usual  gait,  but  no  suspicion  crossed 
his  mind  that  the  figure  might  be  that  of  his 
partner. 

A  rocket  went  up  from  the  Rouen  House, 
then  another,  followed  by  a  salvo  of  anvils  and  a 
rackety  discharge  of  small-arms;  the  beginning  of 
a  noble  display  of  fireworks  in  celebration  of  the 
prospective  victories  of  the  United  States  and  the 
utter  discomfiture  of  the  Mexicans  when  the  Rouen 
Volunteers  should  reach  the  seat  of  war,  an  exhi- 
bition of  patriotism  which  brought  little  pleasure 
to  Mr.  Vanrevel. 

[  306  ] 


The  Uniform 

But  over  the  noise  of  the  street  he  heard  his 
own  name  shouted  from  the  stairway,  and  almost 
instantly  a  violent  knocking  assailed  the  door.  Be- 
fore he  could  bid  the  visitor  enter,  the  door 
was  flung  open  by  a  stout  and  excited  colored 
woman,  who,  at  sight  of  him,  threw  up  her  hands 
in  tremulous  thanksgiving.  It  was  the  vain 
Mamie. 

She  sank  into  a  chair,  and  rocked  herself  to  and 
fro,  gasping  to  regain  her  lost  breath.  "  Bless  de 
good  God  'Imighty  you  ain'  gone  out ! "  she 
panted.  "  I  run  an'  I  run,  an'  I  come  so  fas'  I 
got  stitches  in  de  side  f 'um  head  to  heel !  " 

Tom  brought  her  a  glass  of  water,  which  she 
drank  between  gasps. 

"  I  nevah  run  so  befo'  enduin'  my  livin*  days," 
she  asserted.  "  You  knows  me,  who  I  am  an* 
whum  I  cum  f'um,  nigh's  well's  I  knows  who  you 
is,  I  reckon,  Maje'  Vanrevel?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know.  Will  you  tell  me  who  sent 
you?" 

"  Miz  Tanberry,  suh,  dat  who  sended  me,  an* 
in  a  venomous  hurry  she  done  de  same ! " 
[307] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

"  Yes.    Why?    Does  she  want  me?  " 

Mamie   emitted   a    screech.      "  'Deed   she   mos' 

everlas'in'ly   does   not!    Dat  de  ve'y   exackindes' 

livin'  t'ing  she  does  not  want ! " 

"  Then  what  is  it,  Mamie?  " 

"  Lemme  git  my  bref ,  suh,  an'  you  hole  yo'ne 

whiles    I    tell    you!     She    say    to    me,    she    say: 

*  Is   you   'quainted   Maje'   Vanrevel,   Mamie?'   s' 

she,  an'  I  up'n'  ansuh,  '  Not  to  speak  wid,  but  dey 

ain'    none   on   'em    I   don'    knows   by    sight,   an* 

none  betterer  dan  him,'  I  say.     Den  she  say,  she 

say :  *  You  run  all  de  way  an'  fin'  dat  young  man,' 

she  say,  s'  she,  *  an'  if  you  don'  git  dah  f o'  he 

leave,    er   don'    stop    him    on    de   way,    den   God 

'Imighty  fergive  you ! '  she  say.     *  But  you  tell 

him  f'um  Jane  Tanberry  not  to  come  nigh  dis 

house  or  dis  gyahden   dis  night!     Tell  him  dat 

Jane  Tanberry  warn  him  he  mus'  keep  outer  Ca- 

rewe's  way  ontel  he  safe  on  de  boat  to-morrer. 

Tell  him  Jane  Tanberry  beg  him  to  stay  in  he 

own  room  dis  night,  an'  dat  she  beg  it  on  her 

bented  knees ! '     An'  dis  she  say  to  me  when  I 

tole  her  what  Nelson  see  in  dat  house  dis  evenin'. 

[  308  ] 


The  Uniform 

An'  hyuh  I  is,  an'  hyuh  you  is,  an'  de  blessed 
Jesus  be  thank',  you  is  hyuh ! " 

Tom  regarded  her  with  a  grave  attention. 
"What  made  Mrs.  Tanberry  think  I  might  be 
coming  there  to-night?  " 

"  Dey's  cur'ous  goin's-on  in  dat  house,  suh ! 
De  young  lady  she  ain'  like  herself;  all  de  day 
long  she  wanduh  up  an'  down  an'  roun'  about. 
Miz  Tanberry  are  a  mighty  guessifying  woman, 
an'  de  minute  I  tell  her  what  Nelse  see,  she  s'pec' 
you  a-comin'  an'  dat  de  boss  mos'  pintedly  pre- 
parin'  fo'  it!" 

"  Can  you  make  it  a  little  clearer  for  me, 
Mamie?  I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand." 

"  Well,  suh,  you  know  dat  ole  man  Nelson,  he 
allays  tell  me  ev'yt'ing  he  know,  an'  ev'yt'ing  he 
think  he  know,  jass  de  same,  suh.  An'  dat  ole 
Nelse,  he  mos'  'sessful  cull'd  man  in  de  worl'  to 
crope  roun'  de  house  an'  pick  up  de  gossip  an* 
git  de  'fo'  an'  behine  er  what's  goin'  on.  So 
'twas  dat  he  see  de  boss,  when  he  come  in  to'des 
evenin',  tek  dat  heavy  musket  offn'  de  racks  an' 
load  an'  clean  her,  an'  he  do  it  wid  a  mighty  bad 
[309] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

look  'bout  de  mouf .  Den  he  gone  up  to  de  cupoly 
an*  lef  it  dah,  an'  den  come  down  ag'in. 
Whiles  dey  all  is  eatin',  he  'nounce  th'ee  time'  dat 
he  goin'  be  'way  endu'in'  de  evenin'.  Den  he 
gone  out  de  front  do',  an'  out  de  gates,  an'  down 
de  street.  Den,  suh,  den,  suh,  'tain't  no  mo'n  a 
half-'n-'our  ago,  Nelse  come  to  me  an'  say  dat 
he  see  de  boss  come  roun'  de  stable,  keepin'  close 
in  by  de  shrubbery,  an'  crope  in  de  ball-room  win- 
der, w'ich  is  close  to  de  groun',  suh.  Nelse  'uz 
a  cleanin'  he  harness  in  de  back  yo'd  an'  he  let 
on  not  to  see  him,  like.  Miss  Betty,  she  walkin' 
in  her  gyahden  an'  Miz  Tanberry  fan'  on  de 
po'ch.  Nelse,  he  slip  de  house  whuh  de  lights 
ain'  lit,  an'  stan'  an'  listen  long  time  in  de 
liberry  at  de  foot  er  dem  sta'hs ;  an'  he  hyuh  dat 
man  move,  suh!  Den  Nelse  know  dat  he  done  crope 
up  to  de  cupoly  room  an' — an'  dat  he  settin'  dah, 
waitin'!  Soze  he  come  an'  tole  me,  an'  I  beg  Miz 
Tanberry  come  in  de  kitchen,  an'  I  shet  de  do' 
an'  I  tole  her.  An'  she  sended  me  hyuh  to  you, 
suh.  An'  if  you  'uz  a-goin',  de  good  God  'Imighty 
mus'  er  kep'  you  ontel  I  got  hyuh ! " 
[310] 


The  Uniform 

"  No ;  I  wasn't  going."  Tom  smiled  upon  her 
sadly.  *'  I  dare  say  there's  a  simpler  expla- 
nation. Don't  you  suppose  that  if  Nelson  was 
right  and  Mr.  Carewe  really  did  come  back,  it 
was  because  he  did  not  wish  his  daughter  and  Mrs. 
Tanberry  to  know  that — that  he  expected  a  party 
of  friends,  possibly,  to  join  him  there  later?  " 

"What  he  doin'  wid  dat  gun,  suh?  Nobody 
goin'  play  cyahds  ner  frow  dice  wid  a  gun,  is 
dey  ?  "  asked  Mamie,  as  she  rose  and  walked  toward 
the  door. 

"  Oh,  that  was  probably  by  chance." 

"  No,  suh !  "  she  cried,  vehemently.  "  An'  dem 
gelmun  wouldn'  play  t'-night,  no  way;  mos'  on 
'em  goin'  wid  you  to-morrer  an'  dey  sayin'  good- 
by  to  de'r  folks  dis  evenin',  not  gamblin'!  Miz 
Tanberry  '11  be  in  a  state  er  mine  ontel  she  hyuh 
fum  me,  an'  I  goin'  hurry  back.  You  won'  come 
dah,  suh?  I  kin  tell  her  dat  you  say  you  sutney 
ain'  comin'  nigh  our  neighborhood  dis  night  ?  " 

"  I  had  not  dreamed  of  coming,  tell  her,  please. 
Probably  I  shall  not  go  out  at  all  this  evening. 
But  it  was  kind  of  you  to  come.     Good-night." 
[311] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

He  stood  with  a  candle  to  light  her  down  the 
stairs,  but  after  she  had  gone  he  did  not  return 
to  the  office.  Instead,  he  went  slowly  up  to  his  own 
room,  glancing  first  into  Crailey's — the  doors  of 
neither  were  often  locked — to  behold  a  chaos  of 
disorder  and  unfinished  packing.  In  his  own 
chamber  it  only  remained  for  him  to  close  the 
lids  of  a  few  big  boxes,  and  to  pack  a  small 
trunk  which  he  meant  to  take  with  him  to 
the  camp  of  the  State  troops,  and  he  would 
be  ready  for  departure.  He  set  about  this  task, 
and,  concluding  that  there  was  no  necessity  to 
wear  his  uniform  on  the  steamboat,  decided  to 
place  it  in  the  trunk,  and  went  to  the  bed  where 
he  had  folded  and  left  it.  It  was  not  there.  Nor 
did  a  thorough  search  reveal  it  anywhere  in  the 
room.  Yet  no  one  could  have  stolen  it,  for  when 
he  had  gone  down  to  the  office  Crailey  had  re- 
mained on  this  floor.  Mamie  had  come  within  a 
few  minutes  after  Crailey  went  out,  and  during 
his  conversation  with  her  the  office-door  had  been 
open;  no  one  could  have  passed  without  being 
seen.  Also,  a  thief  would  have  taken  other  things 
[312] 


The  Uniform 

as  well  as  the  uniform;  and  surely  Crailey  must 
have  heard;  Crailey  would — Crailey ! 

Then  Tom  remembered  the  figure  in  the  long 
cloak  and  the  military  cap,  and,  with  a  sick  heart, 
began  to  understand.  He  had  read  the  Journal, 
and  he  knew  why  Crailey  might  wish  to  masquer- 
ade in  a  major's  uniform  that  night.  If  Miss  Ca- 
rewe  read  it  too,  and  a  strange  wonder  rose  in  her 
mind,  this  and  a  word  would  convince  her.  Tom 
considered  it  improbable  that  the  wonder  would 
rise,  for  circumstances  had  too  well  established  her 
in  a  mistake,  trivial  and  ordinary  enough  at  first, 
merely  the  confusing  of  two  names  by  a  girl  new  to 
the  town,  but  so  strengthened  by  every  confirma- 
tion Crailey's  wit  could  compass  that  she  would, 
no  doubt,  only  set  Cummings's  paragraph  aside  as 
a  newspaper  error.  Still,  Crailey  had  wished  to  be 
on  the  safe  side ! 

Tom  sighed  rather  bitterly.  He  was  convinced 
that  the  harlequin  would  come  home  soon,  replace 
the  uniform  (which  was  probably  extremely  be- 
coming to  him,  as  they  were  of  a  height  and 
figure  much  the  same),  and  afterward,  in  his  or- 
[313] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

dinary  dress,  would  sally  forth  to  spend  his 
last  evening  with  Fanchon.  Tom  wondered  how 
Crailey  would  feel  and  what  he  would  think  about 
himself  while  he  was  changing  his  clothes;  but  he 
remembered  his  partner's  extraordinary  powers  of 
mental  adjustment — and  for  the  first  time  in  hi? 
life  Vanrevel  made  no  allowance  for  the  other's 
temperament;  and  there  came  to  him  a  moment 
when  he  felt  that  he  could  almost  dislike  Crailey 
Gray. 

At  all  events,  he  would  go  out  until  Crailey  had 
come  and  left  again;  for  he  had  no  desire  to  be- 
hold the  masquerader's  return.  So  he  exchanged 
his  dressing-gown  for  a  coat,  fastened  his  collar, 
and  had  begun  to  arrange  his  cravat  at  the  mirror, 
when,  suddenly,  the  voice  of  the  old  negress  seemed 
to  sound  close  beside  him  in  the  room : 

"  He's  settin'  dah— vxntin'!  " 

The  cravat  was  never  tied ;  Tom's  hands  dropped 
to  his  sides  as  he  started  back  from  the  staring  face 
in  the  mirror.  Robert  Carewe  was  waiting — and 

Crailey All  at  once  there  was  but  one  vital 

necessity  in  the  world  for  Tom  Vanrevel,  that  was 
[314] 


The  Uniform 

to  find  Crailey ;  he  must  go  to  Crailey — even  in  Ca- 
rewe's  own  house — he  must  go  to  Crailey ! 

He  dashed  down  the  stairs  and  into  the  street. 
The  people  were  making  a  great  uproar  in  front 
of  the  hotel,  exploding  bombs,  firing  muskets  in 
the  air,  sending  up  rockets;  and  rapidly  crossing 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  he  passed  into  Carewe 
Street,  unnoticed.  Here  the  detonations  were  not 
so  deafening,  though  the  little  steamboat  at  the 
wharf  was  contributing  to  the  confusion  with  all 
in  her  power,  screeching  simultaneously  approval 
of  the  celebration  and  her  last  signals  of  departure. 

At  the  first  corner  Tom  had  no  more  than  left 
the  sidewalk  when  he  came  within  a  foot  of  being 
ridden  down  by  two  horsemen  who  rode  at  so  des- 
perate a  gallop  that  (the  sound  of  their  hoof-beats 
being  lost  in  the  uproar  from  Main  Street)  they 
were  upon  him  before  he  was  aware  of  them. 

He  leaped  back  with  an  angry  shout  to  know 
who  they  were  that  they  rode  so  wildly.  At  the 
same  time  a  sharp  explosion  at  the  foot  of  the 
street  sent  a  red  flare  over  the  scene,  a  flash,  gone 
with  such  incredible  swiftness  into  renewed  dark- 
[315] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

ness  that  he  saw  the  flying  horsemen  almost  as 
equestrian  statues  illumined  by  a  flicker  of  light- 
ning, but  he  saw  them  with  the  same  distinctness 
that  lightning  gives,  and  recognized  the  foremost 
as  Robert  Carewe.  And  in  the  instant  of  that 
recognition,  Tom  knew  what  had  happened  to 
Crailey  Gray,  for  he  saw  the  truth  in  the  ghastly 
face  of  his  enemy. 

Carewe  rode  stiffly,  like  a  man  frozen  upon  his 
horse,  and  his  face  was  like  that  of  a  frozen  man ; 
his  eyes  glassy  and  not  fixed  upon  his  course,  so 
that  it  was  a  deathly  thing  to  see.  Once,  long 
ago,  Tom  had  seen  a  man  riding  for  his  life,  and 
he  wore  this  same  look.  The  animal  bounded  and 
swerved  under  Vanrevel's  enemy  in  the  mad  rush 
down  the  street,  but  he  sat  rigid,  bolt  upright 
in  the  saddle,  his  face  set  to  that  look  of  cold- 
ness. 

The  second  rider  was  old  Nelson,  who  rode  with 
body  crouched  forward,  his  eyeballs  like  shining 
porcelain  set  in  ebony,  and  his  arm  like  a  flail, 
cruelly  lashing  his  own  horse  and  his  master's  with 
a  heavy  whip. 


The  Uniform 

"  De  steamboat !  "  he  shouted,  hoarsely,  bring- 
ing  down  the  lash  on  one  and  then  on  the 
other.  "  De  steamboat,  de  steamboat — fo'  God's 
sake,  honey,  de  steamboat !  " 

They  swept  into  Main  Street,  Nelson  leaning 
far  across  to  the  other's  bridle,  and  turning  both 
horses  toward  the  river,  but  before  they  had  made 
the  corner,  Tom  Vanrevel  was  running  with  all  the 
speed  that  was  in  him  toward  his  enemy's  house. 
The  one  block  between  him  and  that  forbidden 
ground  seemed  to  him  miles  long,  and  he  felt  that 
he  was  running  as  a  man  in  a  dream,  and,  at  the 
highest  pitch  of  agonized  exertion,  covering  no 
space,  but  only  working  the  air  in  one  place,  like 
a  treadmill.  All  that  was  in  his  mind,  heart,  and 
soul  was  to  reach  Crailey.  He  had  known  by  the 
revelation  of  Carewe's  face  in  what  case  he  would 
find  his  friend;  but  as  he  ran  he  put  the  knowl- 
edge from  him  with  a  great  shudder,  and  resolved 
upon  incredulity  in  spite  of  his  certainty.  All  he 
let  himself  feel  was  the  need  to  run,  to  run 
until  he  found  Crailey,  who  was  somewhere  in 
the  darkness  of  the  trees  about  the  long,  low  house 
[317] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

on  the  corner.  When  he  reached  the  bordering 
hedge,  he  did  not  stay  for  gate  or  path,  but, 
with  a  loud  shout,  hurled  himself  half  over,  half 
through,  the  hedge,  like  a  bolt  from  a  catapult. 

Lights  shone  from  only  one  room  in  the  house, 
the  library;  but  as  he  ran  toward  the  porch  a 
candle  flickered  in  the  hall,  and  there  came  the 
sound  of  a  voice  weeping  with  terror. 

At  that  he  called  more  desperately  upon  his  in- 
credulity to  aid  him,  for  the  voice  was  Mrs.  Tan- 
berry's.  If  it  had  been  any  other  than  she,  who 
sobbed  so  hopelessly — she  who  was  always  steady 
and  strong!  If  he  could,  he  would  have  stopped 
to  pray,  now,  before  he  faced  her  and  the  truth; 
but  his  flying  feet  carried  him  on. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  she  gasped,  brokenly,  from  the 
hall.  "Mamie?  Have  you  brought  him?" 

"  It's  I,"  he  cried,  as  he  plunged  through  the 
doorway.  "  It's  Vanrevel." 

Mrs.  Tanberry  set  the  iron  candlestick  down 
upon  the  table  with  a  crash. 

"You've  come  too  late!"   she  sobbed.     "An- 
other man  has  taken  your  death  on  himself." 
[318] 


The  Uniform 

He  reeled  back  against  the  wall.  "  Oh,  God! " 
he  said.  "  Oh,  God,  God,  God !  Crailey !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  It's  the  poor  vagabond 
that  you  loved  so  well." 

Together  they  ran  through  the  hall  to  the  li- 
brary. Crailey  was  lying  on  the  long  sofa,  his 
eyes  closed,  his  head  like  a  piece  of  carven  marble, 
the  gay  uniform,  in  which  he  had  tricked  himself 
out  so  gallantly,  open  at  the  throat,  and  his  white 
linen  stained  with  a  few  little  splotches  of  red. 

Beside  him  knelt  Miss  Betty,  holding  her  lace 
handkerchief  upon  his  breast;  she  was  as  white 
as  he,  and  as  motionless;  so  that,  as  she  knelt 
there,  immovable  beside  him,  her  arm  like  alabaster 
across  his  breast,  they  might  have  been  a  sculptor's 
group.  The  handkerchief  was  stained  a  little,  like 
the  linen,  and  like  it,  too,  stained  but  a  little.  Near- 
by, on  the  floor,  stood  a  flask  of  brandy  and  a 
pitcher  of  water. 

"  You ! "  Miss  Betty's  face  showed  no  change, 
nor  even  a  faint  surprise,  as  her  eyes  fell  upon 
Tom  Vanrevel,  but  her  lips  soundlessly  framed  the 
word.  "You!" 

1319] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

Tom  flung  himself  on  his  knees  beside  her. 

"  Crailey ! "  he  cried,  in  a  sharp  voice  that 
had  a  terrible  shake  in  it.  "  Crailey !  Crailey,  I 
want  you  to  hear  me !  "  He  took  one  of  the  limp 
hands  in  his  and  began  to  chafe  it,  while  Mrs. 
Tanberry  grasped  the  other. 

"  There's  still  a  movement  in  the  pulse,"  she 
faltered. 

"  Stitt!  "  echoed  Tom,  roughly.  "  You're  mad ! 
You  made  me  think  Crailey  was  dead!  Do  you 
think  Crailey  Gray  is  going  to  die?  He  couldn't, 
I  tell  you — he  couldn't;  you  don't  know  him! 
Who's  gone  for  the  doctor?"  He  dashed  some 
brandy  upon  his  handkerchief  and  set  it  to  the 
white  lips. 

"  Mamie.  She  was  here  in  the  room  with  me 
when  it  happened." 

"  '  Happened  ' !  «  Happened ' !  "  he  mocked  her, 
furiously.  "  *  Happened  '  is  a  beautiful  word !  " 

"  God    forgive    me ! "    sobbed    Mrs.    Tanberry. 

"  I  was  sitting  in  the  library,  and  Mamie  had  just 

come  from  you,  when  we  heard  Mr.  Carewe  shout 

from  the   cupola  room :   '  Stand  away  from   my; 

[320] 


The   Uniform 

'daughter,  Vanrevel,  and  take  this  like  a  dog!' 
Only  that ; — and  Mamie  and  I  ran  to  the  window, 
and  we  saw  through  the  dusk  a  man  in  uniform 
leap  back  from  Miss  Betty — they  were  in  that  lit- 
tle open  space  near  the  hedge.  He  called  out  some- 
thing and  waved  his  hand,  but  the  shot  came  at 
the  same  time,  and  he  fell.  Even  then  I  was  sure, 
in  spite  of  what  Mamie  had  said,  I  was  as  sure 
as  Robert  Carewe  was,  that  it  was  you.  He  came 
and  took  one  look — and  saw — and  then  Nelson 
brought  the  horses  and  made  him  mount  and  go. 
Mamie  ran  for  the  doctor,  and  Betty  and  I  car- 
ried Crailey  in.  It  was  hard  work." 

Miss  Betty's  hand  had  fallen  from  Crailey's 
breast  where  Tom's  took  its  place.  She  rose  un- 
steadily to  her  feet  and  pushed  back  the  hair 
from  her  forehead,  shivering  convulsively  as  she 
looked  down  at  the  motionless  figure  on  the 
sofa. 

"  Crailey ! "    said    Tom,    in    the    same    angry, 

shaking    voice.     "  Crailey,    you've    got    to    rouse 

yourself!     This  won't   do;   you've   got   to   be  a 

man !     Crailey ! "     He   was   trying    to   force   the 

[321] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

brandy     through     the     tightly     clenched     teeth. 
"Crailey!" 

"  Crailey ! "  whispered  Miss  Betty,  leaning 
heavily  on  the  back  of  a  chair.  "  Crailey?  "  She 
looked  at  Mrs.  Tanberry  with  vague  interro- 
gation, but  Mrs.  Tanberry  did  not  under- 
stand. 

"Crailey!" 

It  was  then  that  Crailey's  eyelids  fluttered  and 
slowly  opened;  and  his  wandering  glance,  dull  at 
first,  slowly  grew  clear  and  twinkling  as  it  rested 
on  the  ashy,  stricken  face  of  his  best  friend. 

"  Tom,"  he  said,  feebly,  "  it  was  worth  the 
price,  to  wear  your  clothes  just  once!" 

And  then,  at  last,  Miss  Betty  saw  and  under- 
stood. For  not  the  honest  gentleman,  whom  every- 
one except  Robert  Carewe  held  in  esteem  and  af- 
fection, not  her  father's  enemy,  Vanrevel,  lay  be- 
fore her  with  the  death-wound  in  his  breast  for 
her  sake,  but  that  other — Crailey  Gray,  the 
ne'er-do-weel  and  light-o'-love,  Crailey  Gray,  wit, 
poet,  and  scapegrace,  the  well-beloved  towD 
scamp. 

[322] 


The   Uniform 

He  saw  that  she  knew,  and,  as  his  brighten- 
ing eyes  wandered  up  to  her,  he  smiled  faintly. 
"  Even  a  bad  dog  likes  to  have  his  day,"  he  whis- 
pered. 


[323) 


CHAPTER  XIX 
The  Flag  Goes  Marching  By 

WILL  CUMMINGS  had  abandoned  the 
pen  for  the  sword  until  such  time  as 
Santa  Anna  should  cry  for  quarter,  and 
had  left  the  office  in  charge  of  an  imported  sub- 
stitute; 6ut  late  that  night  he  came  to  his  desk 
once  more,  to  write  the  story  of  the  accident  to 
Corporal  Gray;  and  the  tale  that  he  wrote  had 
been  already  put  into  writing  by  Tom  Vanrevel 
as  it  fell  from  Crailey's  lips,  after  the  doctor  had 
come,  so  that  none  might  doubt  it.  No  one  did 
doubt  it.  What  reason  had  Mr.  Carewe  to  injure 
Crailey  Gray?  Only  five  in  Rouen  knew  the 
truth;  for  Nelson  had  gone  with  his  master,  and, 
except  Mamie,  the  other  servants  of  the  Carewe 
household  had  been  among  the  crowd  in  front  of 
the  Rouen  House  when  the  shot  was  fired. 

So  the  story  went  over  the  town:  how  Crailey 
[824] 


The  Flag  Goes  Marchmg  By 
had  called  to  say  good-by  to  Mrs.  Tanberry; 
how  Mr.  Carewe  happened  to  be  examining 
the  musket  his  father  had  carried  in  1812, 
when  the  weapon  was  accidentally  discharged,  the 
ball  entering  Crailey's  breast;  how  Mr.  Carewe, 
stricken  with  remorse  and  horror  over  this  fright- 
ful misfortune,  and  suffering  too  severe  anguish  of 
mind  to  remain  upon  the  scene  of  the  tragedy 
which  his  carelessness  had  made,  had  fled,  attended 
by  his  servant;  and  how  they  had  leaped  aboard 
the  evening  boat  as  it  was  pulling  out,  and  were 
now  on  their  way  down  the  river. 

And  this  was  the  story,  too,  that  Tom  told 
Fanchon;  for  it  was  he  who  brought  her  to 
Crailey.  Through  the  long  night  she  knelt  at 
Crailey's  side,  his  hand  always  pressed  to  her 
breast  or  cheek,  her  eyes  always  upward,  and  her 
lips  moving  with  her  prayers,  not  for  Crailey  to 
be  spared,  but  that  the  Father  would  take  good 
care  of  him  in  heaven  till  she  came.  "  I  had  al- 
ready given  him  up,"  she  said  to  Tom,  meekly,  in 
a  small  voice.  "  I  knew  it  was  to  come,  and  per- 
haps this  way  is  better  than  that — I  thought  it 
[325] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

would  be  far  away  from  me.  Now  I  can  be  with 
him,  and  perhaps  I  shall  have  him  a  little  longer, 
for  he  was  to  have  gone  away  before  noon." 

The  morning  sun  rose  upon  a  fair  world,  gay 
with  bird-chatterings  from  the  big  trees  of  the  Ca- 
rewe  place,  and  pleasant  with  the  odors  of  Miss 
Betty's  garden,  and  Crailey,  lying  upon  the  bed  of 
the  man  who  had  shot  him,  hearkened  and  smiled 
good-by  to  the  summer  he  loved;  and,  when  the 
day  broke,  asked  that  the  bed  be  moved  so  that 
he  might  lie  close  by  the  window.  It  was  Tom 
who  had  borne  him  to  that  room.  "  I  have  car- 
ried him  before  this,"  he  said,  waving  the  others 
aside. 

Not  long  after  sunrise,  when  the  bed  had  been 
moved  near  the  window,  Crailey  begged  Fanchon 
to  bring  him  a  miniature  of  his  mother  which  he 
had  given  her,  and  urged  her  to  go  for  it  her- 
self;  he  wanted  no  hands  but  hers  to  touch  it,  he 
said.  And  when  she  had  gone  he  asked  to  be  left 
alone  with  Tom. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Tom,"  he  said,  faintly. 
"I'd  like  to  keep  hold  of  it  a  minute  or  so.  I 


The  Flag  Goes  Marching  By 

couldn't  have  said  that  yesterday,  could  I,  with- 
out causing  us  both  horrible  embarrassment?  But 
I  fancy  I  can  now,  because  I'm  done  for.  That's 
too  bad,  isn't  it?  I'm  very  young,  after  all.  Do 
you  remember  what  poor  Andre  Chenier  said  as 
he  went  up  to  be  guillotined? — *  There  were  things 
in  this  head  of  mine ! '  But  I  want  to  tell  you 
what's  been  the  matter  with  me.  It  was  just  my 
being  a  bad  sort  of  poet.  I  suppose  that  I've 
never  loved  anyone;  yet  I've  cared  more  deeply 
than  other  men  for  every  lovely  thing  I  ever  saw, 
and  there's  so  little  that  hasn't  loveliness  in  it. 
I'd  be  ashamed  not  to  have  cared  for  the  beauty 
in  all  the  women  I've  made  love  to — but  about 
this  one — the  most  beautiful  of  all — I " 

"  She  will  understand ! "  said  Tom,  quickly. 

"  She  will — yes — she's  wise  and  good.  If  Fan- 
chon  knew,  there  wouldn't  be  even  a  memory  left 
to  her — and  I  don't  think  she'd  live.  And  do  you 
know,  I  believe  I've  done  a  favor  for  Miss  Betty 
in  getting  myself  shot;  Carewe  will  never  come 
back.  Tom,  was  ever  a  man's  knavery  so  exactly 
the  architect  of  his  own  destruction  as  mine?  And 
[327] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

for  what  gain?  Just  the  excitement  of  the  comedy 
from  day  to  day! — for  she  was  sure  to  despise 
me  as  soon  as  she  knew — and  the  desire  to  hear 
her  voice  say  another  kindly  thing  to  me — and  the 
everlasting  perhaps  in  every  woman,  and  this  one 
the  Heart's  Desire  of  all  the  world!  Ah,  well! 
Tell  me — I  want  to  hear  it  from  you — how  many 
hours  does  the  doctor  say  ?  " 

"  Hours,  Crailey?  "  Tom's  hand  twitched  piti- 
fully in  the  other's  feeble  grasp. 

"  I  know  it's  only  a  few." 

"They're  all  fools,  doctors!"  exclaimed  Van- 
revel,  fiercely. 

"  No,  no.  And  I  know  that  nothing  can  be 
done.  You  all  see  it,  and  you  want  me  to  go 
easily — or  you  wouldn't  let  me  have  my  own 
way  so  much !  It  frightens  me,  I  own  up,  to  think 
that  so  soon  I'll  be  wiser  than  the  wisest  in  the 
world.  Yet  I  always  wanted  to  know.  I've  sought 
and  I've  sought — but  now  to  go  out  alone  on  the 
search — it  must  be  the  search,  for  the  Holy  Grail 

T »» 

r       A  - 

"  Please  don't  talk,"  begged  Tom,  in  a  broken 
[328] 


The  Flag  Goes  Marching  By 
whisper.     "  For  mercy's  sake,  lad.     It  wears  on 
you  so." 

Crailey  laughed  weakly.  "  Do  you  think  I 
could  die  peacefully  without  talking  a  great  deal? 
There's  one  thing  I  want,  Tom.  I  want  to  see 
all  of  them  once  more,  all  the  old  friends  that  are 
going  down  the  river  at  noon.  What  harm  could 
it  do?  I  want  them  to  come  by  here  on  their  way 
to  the  boat,  with  the  band  and  the  new  flag.  But 
I  want  the  band  to  play  cheerfully!  Ask  'em  to 
play  '  Rosin  the  Bow,'  will  you  ?  I've  never  be- 
lieved in  mourn  fulness,  and  I  don't  want  to  see 
any  of  it  now.  It's  the  rankest  impiety  of  all ! 
And  besides,  I  want  to  see  them  as  they'll  be  when 
they  come  marching  home — they  must  look  gay !  " 

"  Ah,  don't,  lad,  don't !  "  Tom  flung  one  arm 
about  the  other's  shoulder  and  Crailey  was  silent, 
but  rested  his  hand  gently  on  his  friend's  head. 
In  that  attitude  Fanchon  found  them  when  she 
came. 

The  volunteers  gathered  at  the  court-house  two 
hours  before  noon.    They  met  each  other  dismally, 
[329] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

speaking  in  undertones  as  they  formed  in  lines 
of  four,  while  their  dispirited  faces  showed 
that  the  heart  was  out  of  them.  Not  so  with  the 
crowds  of  country  folk  and  townspeople  who  lined 
the  streets  to  see  the  last  of  them.  For  these, 
when  the  band  came  marching  down  the  street  and 
took  its  place,  set  up  a  royal  cheering  that  grew 
louder  as  Jefferson  Bareaud,  the  color-bearer,  car- 
ried the  flag  to  the  head  of  the  procession.  With 
the  recruits  marched  the  veterans  of  1812  and  the 
Indian  wars,  the  one-legged  cobbler  stumping 
along  beside  General  Trumble,  who  looked  very 
dejected  and  old.  The  lines  stood  in  silence,  and 
responded  to  the  cheering  by  quietly  removing 
their  hats;  so  that  the  people  whispered  that  it 
was  more  like  an  Odd  Fellows'  Sunday  funeral 
than  the  departure  of  enthusiastic  patriots  for  the 
seat  of  war.  General  Trumble's  was  not  the  only 
sad  face  in  the  ranks ;  all  were  downcast  and  nerv- 
ous, even  those  of  the  lads  from  the  country,  who 
had  not  known  the  comrade  they  were  to  leave  be- 
hind. 

Jefferson  unfurled  the  flag;   Marsh   gave  the 
[330] 


The  Flag  Goes  Marching  By 

word  of  command,  the  band  began  to  play  a  quick- 
step, and  the  procession  moved  forward  down  the 
cheering  lane  of  people,  who  waved  little  flags  and 
handkerchiefs  and  threw  their  hats  in  the  air  as 
they  shouted.  But,  contrary  to  expectation,  the 
parade  was  not  directly  along  Main  Street  to 
the  river.  "  Right  wheel !  March !  "  commanded 
Tappingham,  hoarsely,  waving  his  sword,  and 
Jefferson  led  the  way  into  Carewe  Street. 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  cry  now!"  and  Tap- 
pingham, with  a  large  drop  streaking  down  his 
own  cheek,  turned  savagely  upon  Lieutenant  Cum- 
mings.  "  That  isn't  what  he  wants.  He  wants 
to  see  us  looking  cheery  and  smiling.  We  can  do 
it  for  him  this  once,  I  guess!  I  never  saw  him 
any  other  way." 

"  You  look  damn  smiling  yourself ! "  snuffled 
Will. 

"  I  will  when  we  turn  in  at  the  gates,"  retorted 
his  Captain.  "  On  my  soul,  I  swear  I'll  kill  every 
sniffling  idiot  that  doesn't! — In  line,  there!"  he 
stormed  ferociously  at  a  big  recruit. 

The  lively  strains  of  the  band  and  the  shout" 
[331] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

ing  of  the  people  grew  louder  and  louder  in 
the  room  where  Crailey  lay.  His  eyes  glistened 
as  he  heard,  and  he  smiled,  not  the  old  smile  of 
the  worldly  prelate,  but  merrily,  like  a  child  when 
music  is  heard.  The  room  was  darkened,  save  for 
the  light  of  the  one  window  which  fell  softly  upon 
his  head  and  breast  and  upon  another  fair  head 
close  to  his,  where  Fanchon  knelt.  In  the  shadows 
at  one  end  of  the  room  were  Miss  Betty  and  Mrs. 
Tanberry  and  Mrs.  Bareaud  and  the  white-haired 
doctor  who  had  said,  "  Let  him  have  his  own  way 
in  all  he  asks."  Tom  stood  alone,  close  by  the  head 
of  the  couch. 

"Hail  to  the  band!"  Crailey  chuckled,  softly. 
"  How  the  rogues  keep  the  time !  It's  *  Rosin  the 
Bow,'  all  right !  Ah,  that  is  as  it  should  be.  Mrs. 
Tanberry,  you  and  I  have  one  thing  in  common, 
if  you'll  let  me  flatter  myself  so  far :  we've  always 
believed  in  good  cheer  in  spite  of  the  devil  and 
all,  you  and  I,  eh?  The  best  of  things,  even  if 
things  are  bad,  dear  lady,  eh  ?  " 

"  You  darling  vagabond !  "  Mrs.  Tanberry  mur- 
mured, trying  to  smile  back  to  him. 
[332] 


The  Flag  Goes  Marching  By 
"  Hark  to  'em!  "  said  Crailey.  "  They're  very 
near!  Only  hear  the  people  cheer  them!  They'll 
*  march  away  so  gaily,'  won't  they? — and  how 
right  that  is!"  The  vanguard  appeared  in  the 
street,  and  over  the  hedge  gleamed  the  oncoming 
banner,  the  fresh  colors  flying  out  on  a  strong 
breeze.  Crailey  greeted  it  with  a  breathless  cry. 
"  There's  the  flag — look,  Fanchon,  your  flag  !— 
waving  above  the  hedge ;  and  it's  Jeff  who  carries 
it.  Doesn't  it  always  make  you  want  to  dance! 
Bravo,  bravo ! " 

The  procession  halted  for  a  moment  in  the 
street  and  the  music  ceased.  Then,  with  a  jubilant 
flourish  of  brass  and  the  roll  of  drums,  the  band 
struck  up  "  The  Star  Spangled  Banner,"  and 
Jefferson  Bareaud  proudly  led  the  way  through 
the  gates  and  down  the  driveway,  the  bright  silk 
streaming  overhead.  Behind  him  briskly  marched 
the  volunteers,  with  heads  erect  and  cheerful  faces, 
as  they  knew  Corporal  Gray  wished  to  see- them, 
their  Captain  flourishing  his  sword  in  the  air.  { 

"  Here  they  come!     Do  you  see,  Fanchon?" 
cried   Crailey,   excitedly.     "  They   are   all  there, 
[333] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

Jeff  and  Tappingham,  and  the  two  Madril- 
lons  and  Will,  the  dear  old  fellow — he'll  never 
write  a  decent  paragraph  as  long  as  he  lives,  God 
bless  him! — and  young  Frank — what  deviltries 
I've  led  the  boy  into! — and  there's  the  old  Gen- 
eral, forgetting  all  the  tiffs  we've  had.  God  bless 
them  all  and  grant  them  all  a  safe  return !  What 
on  earth  are  they  taking  off  their  hats  for? — 
Ah,  good-by,  boys,  good-by !  " 

They  saw  the  white  face  at  the  window,  and 
the  slender  hand  fluttering  its  farewell,  and  Tap- 
pingham halted  his  men. 

"Three  times  three  for  Corporal  Gray!"  he 
shouted,  managing,  somehow,  to  keep  the  smile 
upon  his  lips.  "  Three  times  three,  and  may  he 
rejoin  his  company  before  we  enter  the  Mexican 
capital ! " 

He  beat  the  time  for  the  thunderous  cheers  that 
they  gave;  the  procession  described  a  circle  on  the 
lawn,  and  then,  with  the  band  playing  and  colors 
flying,  passed  out  of  the  gates  and  took  up  the 
march  to  the  wharf. 

"The  flag,  the  flag!"  whispered  Crailey,  fol- 
[334] 


The  Flag  Goes  Marching  By 

lowing  It  with  his  eyes.  "  It  shows  that  you 
helped  make  it,  Fanchon,  it's  so  beautiful.  Ah, 
Tom,  they've  said  we  abused  it,  sometimes — it  was 
only  that  we  loved  it  so  well  we  didn't  like  to  see 
anyone  make  it  look  silly  or  mean.  But,  after  all, 
no  man  can  do  that — no,  nor  no  group  of  men, 
nor  party  !  His  voice  grew  louder  as  the  last  strains 
of  the  music  came  more  faintly  from  the  street. 
"  They'll  take  your  banner  across  the  Rio  Grande, 
Fanchon,  but  that  is  not  all — some  day  its  stars 
must  spread  over  the  world!  Don't  you  all  see 
that  they  will?  " 

After  a  little  while,  he  closed  his  eyes  with  a 
sigh ;  the  doctor  bent  over  him  quickly,  and  Miss 
Betty  started  forward  unconsciously  and  cried  out. 

But  the  bright  eyes  opened  again  and  fixed 
themselves  upon  her  with  all  their  old,  gay  in- 
scrutability. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Crailey.  "  Miss  Carewe,  may 
I  tell  you  that  I  am  sorry  I  could  not  have  known 
you  sooner?  Perhaps  you  might  have  liked  me 
for  Fanchon's  sake — I  know  you  care  for  her." 

«  I  do— I  do! "  she  faltered.  "  I  love  her,  and 
[335] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

• — ah! — I  do  like  you,  Mr.  Gray,  for  I  know 
you,  though  I  never — met  you  until — last  night. 
God  bless  you — God  bless  you !  " 

She  wavered  a  moment,  like  a  lily  in  the  wind, 
and  put  out  a  hand  blindly.  "  Not  you !  "  she  said 
sharply,  as  Tom  Vanrevel  started  toward  her.  Mrs. 
Tanberry  came  quickly  and  put  an  arm  about 
her,  and  together  they  went  out  of  the  room. 

"  You  must  be  good  to  her,  Tom,"  said  Crailey 
then,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

"  I !  "  answered  Tom,  gently.  "  There  was 
never  a  chance  of  that,  lad." 

"Listen,"  whispered  Crailey.  "Lean  down — 
no — closer."  He  cast  a  quick  glance  at  Fanchon, 
kneeling  at  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  her  golden 
head  on  the  white  coverlet,  her  outstretched  hand 
clutching  his;  and  he  spoke  so  close  to  Tom's 
ear  and  in  so  low  a  tone  that  only  Tom  could 
hear. 

"She  never  cared   for  me.     She  felt  that  she 
ought  to — but  that  was  only  because  I  masquer- 
aded in  your  history.     She  wanted  to  tell  me  be- 
fore I  went  away  that  there  was  no  chance  for 
[336] 


The  Flag  Goes  Marching  By 
me.  She  was  telling  me  that,  when  he  called  from 
the  window.  It  was  at  the  dance,  the  night  be- 
fore, that  she  knew.  I  think  there  has  been  some- 
one else  from  the  first — God  send  it's  you! 
Did  you  speak  to  her  that  night  or  she  to  you?  " 
"Ah,  no,"  said  Tom  Vanrevel.  "All  the 
others." 

Mrs.  Tanberry  and  Betty  and  Mr.  Bareaud 
waited  in  the  library,  the  two  women  huddled  to- 
gether on  a  sofa,  with  their  arms  round  each  other, 
and  all  the  house  was  very  still.  By  and  by,  they 
heard  a  prolonged,  far-away  cheering  and  the 
steamer's  whistle,  and  knew  that  the  boat  was  off. 
Half  an  hour  later,  Will  Cummings  came  back 
alone,  entered  the  room  on  tip-toe,  and  silently 
sank  into  a  chair  near  Mr.  Bareaud,  with  his  face 
away  from  Miss  Betty.  He  was  to  remain  in 
Rouen  another  week,  and  join  his  regiment  with 
Tom.  None  of  the  three  appeared  to  notice  his 
coming  more  than  dimly,  and  he  sat  with  his  face 
bowed  in  his  hands,  and  did  not  move. 

Thus  perhaps  an  hour  passed,  with  only  a  sound 
[337] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

of  footsteps  on  the  gravel  of  the  driveway,  now  and 
then,  and  a  low  murmur  of  voices  in  the  rear  of 
the  house  where  people  came  to  ask  after  Crailey ; 
and  when  the  door  of  the  room  where  he  lay  was 
opened,  the  four  watchers  started  as  at  a  loud 
explosion.  It  was  Mrs.  Bareaud  and  the  old  doc- 
tor, and  they  closed  the  door  again,  softly,  and 
came  in  to  the  others.  They  had  left  Crailey 
alone  with  Fanchon  and  Tom  Vanrevel,  the  two 
who  loved  him  best. 

The  warm  day  beyond  the  windows  became  like 
Sunday,  no  voices  sounded  from  without  in  the 
noon  hush,  though  sometimes  a  little  group  of  peo- 
ple would  gather  across  the  street  to  eye  the  house 
curiously  and  nod  and  whisper.  The  strong,  blue 
shadows  of  the  veranda  pillars  stole  slowly  across 
the  white  floor  of  the  porch  in  a  lessening  slant, 
and  finally  lay  all  in  a  line,  as  the  tall  clock  in  a 
corner  of  the  library  asthmatically  coughed  the 
hour  of  noon.  In  this  jarring  discordance  there 
was  something  frightful  to  Miss  Betty.  She  rose 
abruptly,  and,  imperiously  waving  back  Mrs.  Tan- 
berry,  rho  would  have  detained  her — for  there 
[338] 


The  Flag  Goes  Marching  By 
was  in  her  face  and  manner  the  incipient  wildness 
of  control  overstrained  to  the  breaking-point — she 
went  hurriedly  out  of  the  room  and  out  of  the 
house,  to  the  old  bench  in  the  garden.  There  she 
sank  down,  her  face  hidden  in  her  arms;  there 
on  the  spot  where  she  had  first  seen  Crailey  Gray. 
From  there,  too,  had  risen  the  serenade  of  the 
man  she  had  spurned  and  insulted;  and  there  she 
had  come  to  worship  the  stars  when  Crailey  bade 
her  look  to  them.  And  now  the  strange  young 
teacher  was  paying  the  bitter  price  for  his  fool- 
eries— and  who  could  doubt  that  the  price  was  a 
bitter  one?  To  have  the  spirit  so  suddenly,  cru- 
elly riven  from  the  sprightly  body  that  was,  but 
a  few  hours  ago,  hale  and  alert,  obedient  to  every 
petty  wish,  could  dance,  run,  and  leap;  to  be 
forced  with  such  hideous  precipitation  to  leave  the 
warm  breath  of  June  and  undergo  the  lonely 
change,  merging  with  the  shadow;  to  be  flung 
from  the  exquisite  and  commonplace  day  of  sun- 
shine into  the  appalling  adventure  that  should  not 
have  been  his  for  years — and  hurled  into  it  by 
what  hand! — ah,  bitter,  bitter  price  for  a  harle- 
[339] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

quinade!     And,  alas,  alas!  for  the  brave  harle- 
quin! 

A  gentle  touch  fell  upon  her  shoulder,  and  Miss 
Betty  sprang  to  her  feet  and  screamed.  It  was 
Nelson  who  stood  before  her,  hat  in  hand,  his  head 
deeply  bowed. 

"  Is  he  with  you  ?  "  she  cried,  clutching  at  the 
bench  for  support. 

"  No'm,"  answered  the  old  man,  humbly.  "  I 
reckon  we  all  ain'  goin'  see  dat  man  no  mo'." 

«  Where  is  he?" 

"  On  de  way,  honey,  on  de  way." 

"  The  way— -to  Rouen !  "  she  gasped. 

"  No'm ;  he  goin'  cross  de  big  water."  He 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  pointed  solemnly  to  the 
east.  "  Him  an'  me  we  cotch  de  boat,  an'  yo'  pa 
mek  'em  taken  de  bosses  on  bode.  Den  we  git  off 
at  Leeville,  five  mile'  down  de  rivuh,  an'  yo'  pa 
hoi'  de  boat  whiles  I  rid  back  alone  an'  git  de 
news,  an'  what  de  tale  is  you  all  is  tole,  f'um  ole 
Mist'  Chen'eth;  an'  Mist'  Chen'eth,  he  rid  back 
wid  me  an'  see  yo'  pa  at  Leeville,  an'  dey  talk  in 
de  shed  by  de  landin',  an'  yo'  pa  tell  Mist'  Chen'eth 
[340] 


The  Flag  Goes  Marching  By 
what  'rangements  he  goin'  make  wid  de  proprety. 
'Den  he  git  on  de  boat  ag'in  an'  dey  sto't  her 
agoin';  an'  he  ain'  wave  no  good-by,  ner  say  no 
mo'  wu'ds.  Mist'  Chen'eth  rid  back  whens  de  light 
come;  but  I  res'  de  hosses  an'  come  back  slow, 
'case  I  ponduh  on  de  worl',  an'  I  mighty  sorry 
fer  yo'  pa,  Missy.  He  ain'  comin'  back  no  mo', 
honey,  an'  Miz  Tanberry  an'  me  an'  Mamie,  we 
goin'  take  keer  er  you.  Yo'  pa  gone  back  dah  to 
de  F'enchmun,  whuh  he  'uz  a  young  man.  He 
mighty  sick,  an'  he  scairt,  honey ;  an'  he  ain'  goin' 
git  ovah  dat,  neider.  'Peah  to  me,  Missy,  like 
he  done  had  a  vizhum  er  he  own  soul,  when  he 
come  an'  look  down  at  dat  young  man  layin'  on 
de  grass,  las'  night !  " 

The  old  fellow  bent  his  back  before  her  in  a 
solemn  bow,  as  a  feudal  retainer  in  allegiance  to 
the  heir,  but  more  in  deference  to  the  sorrow  writ- 
ten upon  her,  and  respecting  its  magnitude.  With 
no  words  of  comfort,  for  he  knew  she  wanted  only 
to  be  alone,  he  moved  away,  with  infirm  steps  and 
shaking  head,  toward  the  rear  of  the  house. 

Miss  Betty  threw  herself  upon  the  bench  again, 
[341] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

face  downward  in  her  arms.     And  still  the  house 
lay  in  silence  under  the  sunshine. 

An  hour  had  passed,  and  the  shadows  slanted 
strongly  to  the  east,  when  the  stillness  was  broken 
by  a  sound,  low  and  small  at  first,  then  rising  fear- 
fully, a  long,  quavering  wail  of  supreme  anguish 
that  clutched  and  shook  the  listener's  heart.  No 
one  could  have  recognized  the  voice  as  Fanchon's, 
yet  everyone  who  heard  it  knew  that  it  was  hers; 
and  that  the  soul  of  Crailey  Gray  had  gone  out 
upon  the  quest  for  the  Holy  Grail. 

Miss  Betty's  hands  clenched  convulsively  round 
the  arm  of  the  bench  and  a  fit  of  shuddering  seized 
her  as  if  with  the  grip  of  a  violent  chill,  though 
her  eyes  were  dry.  Then  she  lay  quiet. 

A  long  time  afterward,  she  became  aware  of  a 
step  that  paced  the  garden  path  behind  her,  and 
turned  her  face  upon  her  arm  so  that  she  saw,  but 
made  no  other  motion.  It  was  Tom  Vanrevel, 
walking  slowly  up  and  down,  his  hands  behind  his 
back  and  his  hat  pulled  far  down  over  his  eyes. 
He  had  not  seen  her. 

She  rose  and  spoke  his  name. 
[342] 


The  Flag  Goes  Marching  By 

He  turned  and  came  to  her.  "Almost  at  the 
rery  last,"  he  said,  "  Crailey  whispered  to  me  that 
he  knew  you  thought  him  a  great  scamp,  but  to 
^ell  you  to  be  sure  to  remember  that  it  was  all 
true  about  the  stars." 


[343] 


CHAPTER  XX 


IT  was  between  twilight  and  candlelight,  the 
gentle  half-hour  when  the  kind  old  Sand  Man 
steals  up  the  stairs  of  houses  where  children 
are;  when  rustic  lovers  stroll  with  slow  and  quiet 
steps  down  country  lanes,  and  old  bachelors  are 
loneliest  and  dream  of  the  things  that  might  have 
been.  Through  the  silence  of  the  clear  dusk  came 
the  whistle  of  the  evening  boat  that  was  to  bear 
Tom  Vanrevel  through  the  first  stage  of  his  long 
journey  to  the  front  of  war,  and  the  sound  fell 
cheerlessly  upon  Miss  Betty's  ear,  as  she  stood  lean- 
ing against  the  sun-dial  among  the  lilac  bushes. 
Her  attitude  was  not  one  of  reverie  ;  yet  she  stood 
very  still,  so  still  that,  in  the  wan  shimmer  of  the 
faded  afterglow,  one  might  have  passed  close  by 
her  and  not  have  seen  her.  The  long,  dark  folds 
of  her  gown  showed  faintly  against  the  gray  stone, 


"  Good-by  " 

and  her  arms,  bare  from  the  elbow,  lay  across  the 
face  of  the  dial  with  unrelaxed  fingers  clenching 
the  cornice;  her  head  drooping,  not  languidly  but 
with  tension,  her  eyes  half-closed,  showing  the 
lashes  against  a  pale  cheek;  and  thus,  motionless, 
leaning  on  the  stone  in  the  dusk,  she  might  have 
been  Sorrow's  self. 

She  did  not  move,  there  was  not  even  a  flicker 
of  the  eyelashes,  when  a  step  sounded  on  the  gravel 
of  the  driveway,  and  Vanrevel  came  slowly  from 
the  house.  He  stopped  at  a  little  distance  from 
her,  hat  in  hand.  He  was  very  thin,  worn  and 
old-looking,  and  in  the  failing  light  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  tall,  gentle  ghost;  yet  his  shoul- 
ders were  squared  and  he  held  himself  as  straight 
as  he  had  the  first  time  she  had  ever  seen  him. 

"  Mrs.  Tanberry  told  me  I  should  find  you 
here,"  he  said,  hesitatingly.  "  I  have  come  to  say 
good-by." 

She  did  not  turn  toward  him,  nor  did  more  than 
her  lips  move  as  she  answered,  "  Good-by,"  and 
her  tone  was  neither  kind  nor  cold,  but  held  no 
meaning  whatever,  not  even  indifference. 


The  Two  Vanreveh 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence;  then,  without 
surprise,  he  walked  sadly  to  the  gate,  paused, 
wheeled  about  suddenly,  and  returned  with  a  quick, 
firm  step. 

"  I  will  not  go  until  I  know  that  I  do  not  mis- 
understand you,"  he  said,  "  not  even  if  there  is 
only  the  slightest  chance  that  I  do.  I  want  to 
say  something  to  you,  if  you  will  let  me,  though 
naturally  I  remember  you  once  asked  me  never  to 
speak  to  you  again.  It  is  only  that  I  have  thought 
you  did  that  under  a  misconception,  or  else  I 
should  still  obey  you.  If  you " 

"  What  is  it  that  you  wish  to  say  ?  "  Her  tone 
was  unchanged. 

"  Only  that  I  think  the  hardest  time  for  you 
has  passed,  and  that — — " 

"Do  you?"  she  interrupted. 

"  Yes,"  he  returned,  "  the  saddest  of  your  life. 
I  think  it  has  gone  forever.  And  I  think  that 
what  will  come  to  you  will  be  all  you  wish  for. 
There  will  be  a  little  time  of  waiting " 

"Waiting  for  what?" 

He  drew  a  step  nearer,  and  his  voice  became 
I  346  | 


"  Good-by  n 

very  gentle.  "  Cummings  and  I  reach  our  regi- 
ment to-morrow  night;  and  there  in  the  camp  is 
a  group  of  men  on  the  way  to  the  war,  and  they 
all  go  the  more  bravely  because  each  one  of  them 
has  you  in  his  heart ; — not  one  but  will  be  a  better 
soldier  because  of  you.  I  want  you  to  be- 
lieve that  if  all  of  them  don't  come  back,  yet  the 
one  whose  safety  you  think  of  and  fear  for  will 
return.  For,  you  see,  Crailey  told  me  what  you 
said  to  him  when — when  he  met  you  here  the  last 
time.  I  have  no  way  to  know  which  of  them  you 
meant ;  but — he  will  come  back  to  you !  I  am  sure 
of  it,  because  I  believe  you  are  to  be  happy.  Ah, 
you've  had  your  allotment  of  pain!  After  all, 
there  is  so  little  to  regret:  the  town  seems  empty 
without  its  young  men,  yet  you  may  rejoice,  re- 
membering how  bravely  they  went  and  how  gaily ! 
They  will  sing  half  the  way  to  Vera  Cruz !  You 
think  it  strange  I  should  say  there  is  so  little  to 
regret,  when  I've  just  laid  away  my  best  friend. 
It  was  his  own  doctrine,  and  the  selfish  personal 
grief  and  soreness  grows  less  when  I  think  of  the 
gallant  end  he  made,  for  it  was  he  who  went  away 
[347] 


The  Two  Vanrevds 

most  bravely  and  jauntily  of  all.  Crailey  was  no 
failure,  unless  I  let  what  he  taught  me  go  to  no 
effect.  And  be  sure  he  would  have  told  you  what 
I  tell  you  now,  that  all  is  well  with  all  in  the 
world." 

"  Please ! "  she  cried,  with  a  quick  intake  of 
breath  through  closed  teeth. 

"I  will  do  anything  in  the  world  to  please 
you,"  he  answered,  sorrowfully.  "  Do  you  mean 
that " 

She  turned  at  last  and  faced  him,  but  without 
lifting  her  eyes.  "Why  did  you  come  to  say 
good-by  to  me?  " 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  I  think  you  do."  Her  voice  was  cold  and 
steady,  but  it  was  suddenly  given  to  him  to  per- 
ceive that  she  was  trembling  from  head  to  heel. 

An   exclamation   of   remorse   broke   from   him. 

"Ah!     You  came  here  to  be  alone.     I " 

"  Stop,"  she  said.  "  You  said  good-by  to  me 
once  before.  Did  you  come  to  see — what  you  saw 
then?" 

He  fell  back  in  utter  amazement,  but  she  ad- 


"  Good-by  " 

vanced  upon  him  swiftly.  "Was  it  that?"  she 
cried. 

The  unfortunate  young  man  could  make  no  re- 
ply, and  remained  unable  to  defend  himself  from 
her  inexplicable  attack. 

"  You  have  not  forgotten,"  she  went  on,  im- 
petuously. "  It  was  in  the  crowd,  just  before  they 
gave  you  the  flag.  You  saw — I  know  you  saw — 
and  it  killed  me  with  the  shame  of  it!  Now  you 
come  to  me  to  look  at  the  same  thing  again — and 
the  boat  waiting  for  you!  Is  it  in  revenge  for 
that  night  at  the  Bareauds'?  Perhaps  this  sounds 
wild  to  you — I  can't  help  that — but  why  should 
you  try  to  make  it  harder  for  me?  " 

From  the  porch  came  a  strong  voice :  "  Van- 
revel!" 

"  God  knows  I  haven't  meant  to,"  said  Tom,  in 
bitter  pain.  "  I  don't  understand.  It's  Cummings 
calling  for  me;  I'll  go  at  once.  I'd  hoped,  stu- 
pidly enough,  that  you  would  tell  me  whom  it  was 
you  meant  when  you  spoke  to  Crailey,  so  that  I 
could  help  to  make  it  surer  that  he'd  come  back 
to  you.  But  I've  only  annoyed  you.  And  you 
[349] 


The  Two  Vanrevels 

were  here — away  from  the  house — avoiding  me, 
and  fearing  that  I " 

"Vanrevel!"  shouted  William.  (Mrs.  Tan- 
berry  had  not  told  Lieutenant  Cummings  where  to 
find  Miss  Betty.) 

"Fearing?     Yes?" 

"  Fearing  that  I  might  discover  you."  He  let 
his  eyes  rest  on  her  loveliness  once  more,  and  as 
he  saw  that  she  still  trembled,  he  extended  his  hand 
toward  her  in  a  gesture  of  infinite  gentleness,  like 
a  blessing,  heaved  one  great  sigh,  and,  with  head 
erect  and  body  straight,  set  his  face  manfully 
toward  the  house. 

He  had  taken  three  strides  when  his  heart 
stopped  beating  at  an  ineffable  touch  on  his  sleeve. 
For,  with  a  sharp  cry,  she  sprang  to  him;  and 
then,  once  more,  among  the  lilac  bushes  where  he 
had  caught  the  white  kitten,  his  hand  was  seized 
and  held  between  two  small  palms,  and  the  eyes  of 
Miss  Betty  Carewe  looked  into  the  very  soul  of 
him. 

"  No !  "  she  cried.     "  No !     Fearing  with  a  sick 
heart  that  you  might  not  come !  " 
[350] 


"  Good-by  " 

Her  pale  face,  misty  with  sweetness,  wavered 
before  him  in  the  dusk,  and  he  lifted  his  shaking 
hand  to  his  forehead;  her  own  went  with  it,  and 
the  touch  of  that  steadied  him. 

"You  mean,"  he  whispered,  brokenly,  "you 
mean  that  you " 

"  Yes,  always,"  she  answered,  rushing  through 
the  words,  half  in  tears.  "  There  was  a  little  time 
when  I  loved  what  your  life  had  been  more  than 
you.  Ah,  it  was  you  that  I  saw  in  him.  Yet  it 
was  not  what  you  had  done  after  all,  but  just  you! 
I  knew  there  could  not  be  anyone  else — though  I 
thought  it  could  never  be  you — that  night,  just  be- 
fore they  gave  the  flag." 

"We've  little  time,  Vanrevel!"  called  the  voice 
from  the  porch. 

Tom's  eyes  filled  slowly.  He  raised  them  and 
looked  at  the  newly  come  stars.  "  Crailey,  Crail- 
ey !  "  he  murmured. 

Her  gaze  followed  his.  "  Ah,  it's  he — and  they 
— that  make  me  know  you  will  come  back  to  me ! " 
she  said. 

THE   END 

(351] 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE    PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


'0V  051984 


OCT05  1992 
SEP  04 


L9-Series  4939 


I  III  II II 1 1 1 

1158  00963  4410 


PS 
29' 
T95 


